Rising Earth
by Kirston - Ancestor
Summary: Remnant - a world of colors, strife and bloody evolution, yet many still view the life in it with black and white. But that makes some wonder, what would happen if someone decided to shake things up a little? well.. lets find out.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Keep in mind that this is the test work to get the feel of the site and to improve my self-confidence in writing, so be advised, reader, this test **_**may be **_**deleted shortly, but all in all, consider this a teaser, be sure to comment how I suck at this so I would get better. Enjoy!**

**Edit: whole thing got scraped because it was shit! I seriously wonder why some people even bothered to look past the cringe, and I have only two possible answers to that. First – they are masochists who love to suffer while reading. Second they have no standards (and so do I).**

**Regardless, those 30 people… excuse me, **_**33**_** people who got here before the re-take on this piece of burning garbage are the best and they have my sincerest gratitude. Even if I don't know your names, I will defiantly know how many people gave me the kick needed to continue (probably to someone's chargin)**

**Mandatory disclaimer: I don't own shit except my OC; swearing.**

**Chapter 1**

**(For real this time)**

Death is a strange concept to me. Not because I don't know waits us on the other side, but because every culture and every individual views it uniquely. You see, some cultures say that there is an afterlife that awaits everyone regardless of their deeds in life, be they 'good' or 'bad'. Some say that that there is a place for saints to prosper above and sinners to suffer below. Hell, some even believe in rebirth after death. Every one of these thought have some merit to them, I'll admit that, but is there really exists a point in imagining what lies behind the gates of oblivion?

I don't think so.

But that is not what I am trying to say here. What I'm trying to say, is that there is no reason to fear Death. Through the journey of Man through life we experience many things: happiness, fear, nervousness, excitement, betrayal, loss, pleasure and _so _so much more. But the only things that are certainly alike in this journey are Birth and Death.

'_Everyone is born different_' they say '_Those who are born with great talent in a good family will prosper, and those who are not are irrelevant'_

"_No" _says the second party "_Through the strength of will, body and mind – anyone can achieve excellence"_

"Does it matter?" I say. "Does it matter where leads the other day? No, it doesn't. It only leads to the concept of Tomorrow that never was and never will be"

The answer is always Present time. It doesn't matter if your life will be cut 'short' due to unforeseen consequences because no one knows what uncontrollable events future holds for us.

But then again, how would I know? World is a big place with big people with big ambitions and big minds that seem so infinite, so… vast and ever-changing, that right and wrong seem to be unable to catch up.

But I'm getting off track… if there is even path for my thoughts to follow.

It's not the prospect of Death that confuses me. It's the people who face Death in a way of loss. No-one likes to think how much time people closest to us have remaining, and when the time comes for them to leave, we blame ourselves for not appreciating them enough and we blame the World for being cruel and unfair. Precisely this mindset _kinda_ pisses me off. People knew that end would come eventually, but decided to remain blissfully unaware of the looming end that stalks the flow of time to strike us down. Besides, If only now you discovered World's cruelty, then I don't know what to say to you. Have you even _seen_ a history book!?

…

Wow, I haven't thought that my inner monologue would turn out so aggressive… But then again, why do I keep talking to my subconscious in a first place?

Because I don't have many friends, plus those who are my friends don't like to discus too heavy a topic like this one.

Right… Why do keep asking questions to myself that I already know the answer too?

…

Why do I have to be so fucking weird? It's not even funny anymore. But then again, define 'Weird'.

Anyway, hopefully some fresh air would settle down my thoughts. Especially since I started to think in English more than in my own language, which is concerning to say the least. Though I don't think I'll stop, too far gone to do so. An empty house and its resounding silence don't help either. It's been sometime since I moved from my parents and got a job. They were glad that that I finally started to move on in my life, but that was not the reason they were so happy.

They were happy I left them alone.

_A set of stairs. Dark coat on a hanger. Wooden door to a way out._

My family was a caring bunch, up until that point when I started to think bigger and started unintentionally distancing myself from them (at age 14 none the less). Less and less words we exchanged every day, more and more distance grew.

At least my sister had it better.

I haven't cared at the time, nor does it bother me now, but I can't stop myself from remembering the time when this quiet kid at the back could silently ponder of all the strangeness that is Man and his mind. So lost I was in thought back then, that every question brought an answer along with the paradox following them.

Example:

Question – what is right and wrong?

Answer – concepts that define the righteousness of certain actions and validity of certain answers.

Paradox – who decides what is right and what is wrong.

These thoughts and the like drifted in my head from a fairly young age, and it resulted in me being unconcerned with how a stranger would look at me and left me in a constantly sober. From my time in a school and an academy, I discovered that 'strong', silent types gather respect from their peers just by existing and not causing trouble.

"With a personality like yours, you will go far" These were the word of my teacher when we parted way after my graduation. God only knows how I wanted to say otherwise, but I couldn't because I knew this was the truth. I still can't believe that a lack of ambition makes a man successful…

Fucking hell, psychiatrist's most feared enemy is himself after all, huh?

But nightly solitude that looms above the streets of Minsk helps alleviate my sorrows. Minsk always fascinated me by its union with nature. Simple looking streets are adorned with rows of trees that are illuminated by the lamp posts on a warm summer night, I still wonder why this combination of concrete jungles and Earths fortune look so simple, yet captivating. Maybe because I see it as a union between past and present that adds colors and character to this canvas. Maybe because it always was easy for me to appreciate something, that is in my reach. Who knows?

Walking for the past 30 minutes, I can't help but notice the lack of people on the streets. Only an occasional car whizzes by, disturbing the hanging veil of silence. I can understand why there almost no people on the streets tonight. Too scared of global pandemic they are, but it is certainly a plus in my situation. Nothing beats a quiet walk around the homely streets.

And yet, I have to go back. Exhaustion is finally kicking in and I don't feel like sleeping the night away in a park of all places… But now that I think about it…

I mean what's the worst that can happen?

Get robed – not a big concern, money can be reacquired. _Not that I haven't brought my wallet or anything_

Get beaten up – I'm confident that this won't happen. Minsk is too tame of a place for this to happen

Get kidnapped – maybe, but my previous point still stands.

What do I even get from this? I get to stargaze and breathe fresh air?

For a price of a throbbing back pain in the morning…

Yeah, a sense of adventure doesn't worth it. But I'll take a seat on this bench though, nothing is wrong in catching some of my breath after a nightly walk.

As I sit here, I see the stars _shine_ in their place up above. Truly a beautiful experience to have in this day and age. Ursa Major and Minor seem to shine especially bright tonight, wonder why though. More than likely that this is my sight playing tricks with me. Not that I mind it very much. If my tired eyes let me see something more beautiful than it already is, why would I complain about a situation like this?

But… My eyes do grow heavy with each breath. I should probably go home, a place where the weight of my thoughtful head is the most noticeable.

With an inhale I try to get up from the bench.

But I don't.

_What?_

Without my notice, like a twisted joke that rips away your senses, in a literal blink of an eye, the world faded to black.

_What is happening?_

The inhaled air in my lungs feels none-existent, even though I am sure that that it's still in my 'lungs'.

…

I don't feel my limbs moving, my nose isn't consuming oxygen and I feel a twisted sort of weightlessness. Like gravity was brutally mangled – even the pressure is absent.

…_Have I died? Is this Hell?_

…

_Funnily enough, I imagined this outcome. Absolute nothingness in which you can only think until you lose mind. This thought brings me comfort. To know that all my thinking beared at least some kind of fruit feels novel._

…_Heh, even in my _presumable_ end I think about being right at something in life for once... Or should I say death…?_

_Well, at least I have all the time in the world to think about stuff and 'sing' my heart out 'till I cease to exist…_

…

-Or so I thought.

-On the other side of things, a cruel 'new' world awaited me. One fit only to those with enough guts to survive. The revelation at the time left me very confused and lost, but with the amount of time I lost spent dwelling on the popularity of Escapism in modern "literature", I got over it in a staggeringly small amount of time.

-If I could, I would have laughed back then and there, but I couldn't – "autopilot" prevented me from doing so (In which I was stuck until I was ten years old).

-Plus, a child laughing for no reason five minutes straight would look suspicious…

-Actually, now that I think about it, it wouldn't be _that_ suspicious. Children are children for a reason.

-Anyway, for first nine months of weightlessness I stuck to my word. Mother Nature blessed me with good memory for things, seemingly, insignificant – like music texts and random knowledge of the world. That endless repetition left me with, roughly, 63 songs to remember for the rest of my time here.

-Even though I remember them pretty well, it's better to listen to songs when you put no effort in singing them, and that's a fact.

-Too bad this place is little… _underdeveloped _in a way of music. Ironic, considering that after the end of the Great War people started naming their children in honor of colors and art.

-But I guess that was enough for them.

-But that's not enough for me. My main source of entertainment is almost unavailable because of its stagnation and Scrolls are incredibly hard to come by in the frontier, so no CCT connection, except for the "Mayor" with his own scroll and a Town Hall with its general usage of calling in for help from Beacon from time to time and connections between other villages and families.

-Speaking of which, the kid before me had a good family. His mother - Adira Brown, was a fierce yet loving bear Faunus with enough primal strength to put any man to shame. That also included my father - Victor Sinev (or Victor Brown after marriage), An Atlasean sneak Faunus and Ex-Huntsman turned Woodcutter by the will of a woman. (Funnily enough, he was a dexterous fighter due to his flexibility that harshly contrasted with his size). Younger "me" looked up to him very much so.

-Not that I can blame the kid. He always had a way to spin a story, not gonna lie.

-But that's not important right now.

-What I like to point out to anyone who may read this entry to my journal/diary, is that from this union something unexpected came out.

-And before you start laughing, yes – that was me, but for the entirely different reason you might think of.

-As was said before, my mother is a bear Faunus, while my father is a snake Faunus. From a later discovery, I found out that Faunus to Human ratio in their family tree was, roughly, 8 to 2, and those two are my faraway ancestors.

-Where do I lead with this? I lead to a revelation that even to Humans I'm even more of a mutant than your average Faunus.

-How? Simple. I inherited the traits of them both, with bear ears on my scalp and snake scales on my back.

-Through a simple Biological theorem I'll prove that this is possible.

**(A/N: I dunno how you do it in other countries, but I'll do it how I know to) **

A (alpha) – mother's Faunus trait B (beta) father's trait

Human b- Human

P: F(emale) – AA * M(ale) – BB

**(Due to "clean" bloodlines** **from both sides, I gain a chance to inherit both traits)**

G: A B 

F: AB (bear trait dominating), BA (snake trait dominating)

…Wait

-That leaves a chance for a 50-50. How did I even become like this!?

-There's probably an answer to that, surely, but I'm no biologist, so the answer remains a secret.

-… Why did I try to explain to _you_, a person who may or not read this journal, just _what _even am I?

-I don't know the answer to that question, but one this is certain.

-I'm too tired for this shit. Especially since famous Shattered Moon hang in a place high and well above.

-Hello, Remnant - or The Blessed Hell how I like to call it. A place of bloody evolution, eternal war and people who see only in black and white.

-But does make me wonder…

-How fun it would be to leave a grey smudge?

_**Michael Brown's Journal Entry N.4**_

"_**Strange Introductions, Page 1 of 2"**_

**Now that this piece of shit if remade, you can ignore the second chapter for now, because even in the face of old context it does not fit, **_**at all. **_**Second chapter was basically a character sheet about his physical appearance along with the weapons on him, but it was an early concept in which I didn't like the gun barrels under shields edge (After thinking how he would shoot his opponents and Torchwick's words about kids getting weirder and wierder, this Idea went to trashcan immediately)**

**Unneeded explanation:**** Those 63 song? I wasn't joking, I know 'em all.**

**Let it be known that I don't like too to use Bethesda's approach - Fixing my stuff after releasing it, not because it's a drag, but because the stuff that I wrote here last time made me cringe quite hard.**

**Seriously, why would any of you look past the shit that I wrote?**

**But you have my sincerest gratitude for that, I can assure you.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N (Post Re-Editing): Recently, I have been thinking about what I want to achieve with this story. What I want to tell you, and how to proceed forward. To find an answer to that, I had to remember the reason why have I started writing in a first place. That reason being – sharing thoughts and ideas. While this is not the best way to do so, I still believe that there is something… special? Even liberating in this way of expressing myself. Second reason is me wanting to get a direct taste of escapism in which my Imagination can occupy itself in. And third and the final reason is to make a story about a person that achieved nothing but had everything that he ever wanted.**

**A Diary of No One to whom Everyone can connect to some degree.**

**It seemed like a good idea, and it is in my eyes, but as much as it is my story to enjoy writing, it needs to be the one you enjoy reading, which leads us here.**

**I hate wasting time, but even more so, I hate wasting time of others. I know it's not my place to say what is worth your time or not, but… never mind. **

**Disclaimer: I own only my OC, swearing (probably – just started to write).**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**(For Real This Time)**

-Looking back to the previous few pages in which I wrote, I can't stop myself from feeling a strange form of unease. I don't know which parts give me this feeling, or precisely why I'm feeling unease in a first place, but I think that subconscious side of me cannot believe in the shit that I wrote. All the inconsequence thoughts and words that were poured for no reason but to leave a 'strong' impression on whoever might read my journal/diary in the future that might as well be now.

-Still, I love my subconscious persona for that. Even in the chaos that is life, I still have a reliable source of second opinions, but then again, I don't think that anyone except for me would find it normal to think of _your own subconscious_ as a separate person entirely.

-In any case, I also hate my subconscious for being a separate entity. Every time I have an argument with myself, my subconscious always wins in any kind of imaginary affair. I even tried to keep track of wins and losses in these arguments. The score was quite pitiful. I don't remember exact numbers, but I remember the odds between the win and the loss – 4 to 1.

-But that's where the chaos element of Life comes in. Life forces us to make decisions on the fly, without a proper plan of action, and there are only so many options left for us to take in these kinds of situations. My way of coping with it was always to trust your gut, which I personally find hilarious. Even in this very moment, my mind – possibly the strongest attribute that I have besides the strength of a wild bear, is limited to this journal and remains largely inconsequential in the grand scheme of thing, unlike my instinct that resolved many problems and made many more. But this all reminds me of one thing.

-Why in the fuck am I writing all of that.

-You see, in spite of my mental capabilities, I still can get off track (which happened a lot of times already), and to keep in touch with myself and my past thoughts I try to vent out in here.

-Besides, I can't keep track of everything from my Past; I need to have a back-up for some knowledge and song texts.

-As a plus, I now have a place to lead my stray thought to without them stuffing up my head when I don't need too.

-Speaking of the past, I wanted to write about it. Why? Because of reasons even I'm not privy to. If you don't want to know the past of a person with a strange way of sharing his thought, then I recommend for you to skip a few pages. Less nonsense for you to read. Anyway, where do I even start with this.

-From the beginning, I suppose, but how…?

-I'll just do, and we'll go from there

-The first three years in which I was adjusting with my "autopilot" were quite hectic. Not to me, thankfully, but to "my" briefly mentioned parents – Adira Brown and Victor Sinev/Brown.

-Adira was a Settler, as some might have called her – a person who decided to leave their old home and build a new one. Most of them hailed from other villages, but there were some suicidal people in the mix, who came from confined walls of Vale. Luckily for Michael's mental health (That wouldn't even matter in the end), she was from the Village Settlers, so the good upkeep and conditions were a given.

-Also, I should point out that from this point forward, I discovered that every woman on Remnant looks like a fashion model, whatever the attire they wore. For some reason, this fact angered me a little. Probably because I hated "perfect" things for setting high standards in a place where should be none. For that I actually feel lucky for being relatively a sub-par in beauty department (at least I hope so).

-Back on topic with you.

-Adira was an interesting woman to observe for ten years in my backseat of Michaels mind and to interact with for the next two years after I seized control from the "autopilot". If I still remember her appearance correctly, then I'll say that she had a long brown hair that reached her hips, ears of a bear on her scalp, brown eyes and her general color pallet was brown.

-In essence, she wasn't very impressive in her general appearance, but this is where her character comes into play.

-She was a fiery and intimidating woman, and her genetic strength only added fuel in the raging fire in which her personality could be described, but with Michael she was different… _mostly_. While strict, she was a caring mother to him, like a mama-bear to her cub and a warm fireplace after the cold night outside. Michael loved her very much, and that I can guaranty since I had access to his thoughts. Thank God that this feature wasn't a two way gift, that'd be awkward as hell for me to explain exactly why there's a person inside his head… But I could have _potentially_ been his 'Guiding Voice'. If I would spin my lie carefully then it might have worked out. Give a kid with aspiring background a reason and motivation, and he would have succumbed to his delusions of grandeur. But I guess it doesn't matter now, does it? I am a separate being now. Previous Michael is… _permanently absent_, and I have a better goal in mind then playing hero and eventually dying to a cause of which I am not a part of.

-You (presumably) must wonder, 'what is my goal in a world in which I don't belong in'. For that you will have to wait, because that wasn't the main topic, now was it?

-But then again, I have a memory span of a goldfish, so don't expect much.

-Still, I want to spare some words on my first ten year of '_rebirth_', if you can call it that. I suppose I'll start with the novelty of it. Going through life the first time you tend to overlook things because you either can't or just don't, but when you go on a second lap – boy, there's a lot of nuisance. You don't get to see how your parents make the house the safest place in the universe by taking safety precautions, like 'do not leave any and all forks and knifes wherever they are' or 'labor diversion/divide and conquer strats', because at a young age you can't process all the happenings around you. After my first five months of getting comfortable in the back of Michael's mind, I saw that care for the first time.

-It was overwhelmingly scary how much effort that has been put into all of this. Yet, despite my unease, I had to give them credit for their love.

-Speaking of _'Their_' – The Father and The Ex-Huntsman from Atlas, Victor Sinev. It's precisely with his help I gained the conformation of me being on, _ugh_, _Remnant_. He shared some stories and tales, casting light on the culture of Remnant and, most noticeably, Atlas. Atlas is a strange mix between German engineering and Russian culture (Though I honestly expected that), and it showed on some rare occasions when Michael had trouble sleeping, Victor would sing him some lullabies in _Russian_/_Ancient Atlasian_ of all languages. Though, I find it a little funny in comparison with Russia. At some point, Russian nobles though that knowing French is a sign of culturally mature character, and to stop the spread of French language, some authors, including Alexander Pushkin, tried to bring up a point of Russians having their own beautiful language on which they _should _speak on. Back then it worked, but it didn't on Remnant because of two reasons. One – common folk back then couldn't afford such education to learn French in the first place, which further deepened the disconnection from nobles and a working class / commoners, while on Remnant everyone could get educated like that at the time. Two – no one opposed of such a change because this divided world needed a common language, and to deny this notion in post Great War environment was nothing but foolish. Ancient Atlasian became like a second language to the people of Solitas, but its use in the current day and age is less then pitiful, or so I heard.

-Oh! Not to forget the German roots as well.

-Where was I again?

-Victor was a big and bulky man, with a strong jaw and scales that covered his back, which gifted him a carapace of sorts, along with heightened flexibility in his back (Snake Faunus and all. His eyes and tongue were ordinary though, just like mine). Have to point out that Michael took mostly after his father: short hair, blue eyes and strong facial features with chubby cheeks. Interesting detail is that we share the same color pallet – Black 'n Blue. I don't know why he chose these two colors, but I chose them because I'm not that well versed in the world of fashion and decided to use the simplest and most appealing color scheme to me, because lets be real here – everything goes with black.

-Victor was a good source of information in regards to Atlas and its military. From his words, I gathered that he was born in a middle class family of common background. To Faunus in Atlas 'middle class' might as well be high class, in comparison with their brethren due to unfair work ethics and honest to god discrimination. Still, middle class is a middle class, and that means enlisted military service for two years.

-"_These were the hardest years of my life"_; he admitted to a curious 8 year old Michael "_Being a Faunus in Atlas is a hardship on its own, but being a part of Atlasian Military is even worse. At first, it was bearable because my Faunus trait was hardly noticeable and was easy to hide if you wear some clothes, but because of an accident I was quickly found out by the end of the first two weeks. And then, all went down the drain. Disgusted side glances, rations of lower quality, additional drills to the Faunus members, the list went on but I won't bother you with all of it. I actually don't remember half of the stuff that went on back then, but what I do remember is a friend that I left back in Atlas – Sapfir Kalinovskiy _(Sap-fir Ka-lee-nOv-skiy). _He was a Human man_ _that I quickly made friend with those first two weeks. He was one of the understanding few, so when I went to talk to him after being 'exposed' he said he didn't care if I had a few scales on my back, what mattered to him the most was what kind of man I was. My opinion of him was high already, but after hearing that my military service became a little more bearable"_

-After that, the story became more hazy and abridged – for their efforts, they were noticed at the Huntsman Training Division and were invited. Victor and Sapfir agreed and became Huntsmen after three years of training (I think there were three years instead of four because higher-ups wanted to have a clear divide between Huntsmen and Specialists that were trained for four additional years after two years of being a Huntsman. Still, Victor said that he left Atlas long time ago, so things might have changed in his absence). After these five years of gaining experience and knowledge with his friend, Victor and Sapfyr were invited to the Specialist Course, but they were exhausted from their lives of fighting and servitude, so they declined their chance of success for a chance of freedom. Not too long after, they were discharged and given a special Huntsman license – 'Independent Huntsman', the two main words written on it which meant that the Huntsman was a freelancer with no dependency on Atlasian army.

-Shortly after, these two friends separated to pursue their own lives and dreams that they have missed on in their existence. One went for Vale while the other went for Mistral to see the world as it's truly is. The end of Victor's story.

-After all of this, I must clarify something.

-_I don't know much about Atlasian chain of command and some of the places that are mentioned in this journal are made up, so please don't go and hound my ass for answers that I don't have… probably._

-Still, I do wonder till this day if they kept in touch or not. Such long term friendship is not a thing easily forgotten or broken by time, so they must have. But then again, not that I would know, nor would it matter to me since Victor and Adira have deceased long time ago when Safit has fallen.

-_Safit._ Completely forgot about it till this point. Safit, as you might have guessed, is the village Michael was born, and by extension so did I. It wasn't too big of a settlement, but it wasn't small either. It was a strange place to me. Buildings there weren't spectacular but modern, everyone knew each other but talked like complete strangers. The people there... They were more ghosts than people. Like a ghost town full of spirits that were working double time to keep the ruined town from the clutches of time and rot. Though it is understandable why they were like that. At the time, Safit was one of the more recent projects that came to life in the frontier and that left people moving in a little more on edge for quite some time. This issue became less and less visible with the passage of time, but it never went away and to see that was as easy as to say a word. People, being creatures of habit that they were, sought out comfort in their works and home.

-While we are at it, let me tell you about the infrastructure of Safit – a village destroyed long time ago. That's should be something useful and interesting to you not, but I don't care.

-On second thought there's not much to be said, so that means less useless information for you. Damn.

-I guess what is left to write here about is my experience within its boundaries, huh? I guess I'll tell you the most influential happenings of each year of my life.

-Year one: nothing considerable happened, except for me observing my surrounding and entertaining my inner musings, such as '_Why am I here? I was hoping to completely stop excising in that black void. Why must I suffer like so!? Rebirth is one of the worst curses that could vex me!_' or '_Here I stay, in a toddlers head and observe the world that is around me… Wait. If I'm in his head and I have a personality, does this mean that I became a Subconscious…? Does that mean that my subconscious is a previous me…? I'm scared of my own thought sometimes. Send help.'_

-Help never arrived, sadly, and I had to suffer the annoying chatterbox that is my mind.

-Year two: In this time period Michael was in process of doing his First things (first walk, first word, etc.) and I was in process of discovering where in the hell I was, so noting major has occurred. This routine of growing up went like that for the next several years with nothing interesting happening until I took control and Michael, as a personality, ceased to be. The only noticeable thing that happened was at age seven, when e got into a fight because of something I don't remember, and being properly taught how to throw punches and kicks.

-Year nine: Up until this point, the life that Michael led was a peaceful one. By some dumb luck, he wasn't targeted by other children for being different most of the time, and instead was ignored. No, 'ignored' is a strong word to use here. It's actually quite complicated to describe it. He was treated like a walking body – It's there, it doesn't make any commotions, it exists. Best description that I've got for now. That, along with his upbringing, made him develop some strange morale compass to follow. For some reason he felt obliged to 'help' those people and reach out to them. _Them_ – them who never reached out to him. He was a special butterfly of 'justice' and 'heroics' – a dreamer of glory and success, young Huntsman wana-be.

-In other words - a pitifully disgusting protagonist of his own downfall. Always _so_ righteous, _so_ full of confidence, _so full of shit_. In the last years of Michael's existence I loathed him very much for being himself.

-You might wonder why I feel like so, and I wouldn't blame you for that, for I too wonder why am I this fucking strange.

-I guess there are two reasons why I hate these kinds of people. First reason is their Black n' White vision - I never understood people who don't see the duality of our actions and see only in two dimensions. It's like looking at one side of the coin and saying that there's no other side. Shortsighted are these so called 'heroes', for often they are blind to their own peril. Not to forget _oh so righteous_ leaders of the world – Academy heads, and their delusional ambitions of prosperity and peace. I can pour an intense amount of shit on them in this very journal, and how easy it would be as well.

-But I won't, because no matter what I say, their cause has its own merit. Ozpin, for all his idiocy that I can remember, really did try to make everything right. His main problem was that he never connected the dots between 'Ends' and 'Means', which led him to inaction and stagnation. Ironwood – behind his narrow-mindedness and a need for control, is a deep rooted fear of actually loosing in this long ongoing war, so there's that. Leonardo… not much can be said about that pitiful attempt of doing his own right. Maybe if I play my cards right, then I might meet him in the future and figure out for myself why did he turn out as he did, but that's neither here nor there.

-I went off track again.

-Tenth birthday was the moment when esteemed 'autopilot' decided to give me the control of my body and erase Michael as a personality from my mind. To say that I was ready is a big lie, but it would have been a bigger lie if I said that I didn't adjust quickly. One of the perks of being someone's Subconscious for ten years is that it makes you intimately aware of said persons habits, mannerism, walking patterns, hand movement, favorite gestures and so on. All that provided me an answer to a long forgotten question that I never hope to answer.

-How comfortable would I be in someone else's skin?

-The answer is: very. For some reason, this answer felt right somehow. Probably because I never was comfortable in mine, but alas.

-Curious discovery: villages don't generally have a place of study (schools and the like), so every kid in the frontier was basically homeschooled about the world around them. _That's probably one of the reasons why everyone wants to be a Huntsman_. Limited knowledge and contact with the outside world would leave an impression of their village being the _whole world_. Huntsman propaganda in forms of tales of glory doesn't help young minds to think for themselves, it only fuels everyone's view on the image of a Huntsman.

-Anyways, what was I leading up to?

-That's right – even more useless information for you. Don't worry though; I only wanted to say that Victor helped me learn how to play an acoustic guitar. I was _elated_ when it was brought up. Not only I could accomplish one of my goals, I could put music on top of my singing to the imaginary rhythm of instruments.

-The guitar was their present to me when I took over on Michaels tenth birthday, and for the next nine months I was completely absorbed into mastering the art of plucking strings and making sounds. Victor, being a good father that he was, helped me with basics and let me to discover what to do by myself. Cords like: Am, G, E, C, I remember even from my previous attempts of learning that were stomped on by the lack of time and various distractions, like my _first time, _when my previous caretakers tried to teach me how to play a piano instead. Because I was young I had no weight in my words which lead to me having no value in any argument. I learned how to play the piano in the end of things, because no matter which instrument I would prefer, opportunity is an opportunity and I'd be a fool to not take the advantage of my previous circumstances, in spite of those who wished to have at least some semblance of my full reliance on them.

-But let's not forget that the village life is not an easy one to lead. The amount of sweat, blood and tears that are put into every day that passes by is expected, but staggering despite my humble opinion of it all. Work in the fields, trading with other villages nearby, militia duty, repairs, wood cutting, running a farm, and much more on the list of common requirements for survival of an autonomic society in the frontier.

-Michael was an active and delusional child, and it showed in his eagerness to help others by working with them. The saddest part of it all was that I not only took over his body, but his 'duties' as well.

-Truth be told, I only continued this 'duty' for the reasons of increasing my stamina further (_Which was already impressive in comparison with the average ten year old child_) and to avoid further suspicion.

-What? You thought that living in the head of a person will help me imitate him? If you thought like that you would be correct, but 'imitate' and 'be' are not such synonymic word as some would like to think. Main problem of it all was that I could not _erase_ my identity and be someone else. Thankfully though, my slight 'change' was written off as hormones starting to take effect. If I would be in any shape to argue, I would have said bullshit.

-But hey, opportunity in an opportunity for a reason, ay?

-Strength and agility were accounted for even before I understood my situation fully in this world. Having a mixed heritage of a snake and a bear, apparently, gave me a bit of both perks from my parents. Namely: Adira's strength to bend steel with her bare hands and Victor's agile spine joints that allowed him to do feats that unnerved many, if not all, settlers.

-These perks did help them when Grimm after my twelfth birthday, but admittedly not by a large margin. They helped me survive and haven't failed me since.

-Not that I would let that happen.

-I'm rounding up thins entry for today, I've got to acquaint myself with Vale a little after all and I have just enough savings to live here for an uncertain amount of time. You would imagine that staying here for two months already would take care of the problem, but nah – life is never easy and sweet, there always has to be a right amount of bitter.

-Shame that I'm the strange one because no one shares my sentiment.

* * *

"…These pages are going out of this diary"

Too much nonsense was writhen there. Too much suspicious information, that doesn't make much sense in context of Remnant.

At this point, I wonder why I'm even writing this if every page that I write is going to be torn out.

…

On second thought, that actually is a reasonable thing. I want to express my thoughts in some way while not telling to a living soul. A funny thing would that be, when I leave only the cover – The Receding Journal that alleviates my sorrows like a torn out pages.

But these sorrows seem to gather even now, when I have taken care of my weapon's blueprint, I still have to find a…trustable armory, or something like that to make it. All the problems just come, piling up. And when I decide to finally come back to civilization after five years of survival, no less! Not only that, but I can already feel the chains of obligation and moral decency creep onto me. Arthur Schopenhauer was right. I always wanted to know that feeling and total liberation of freedom, his words just served as the right fuel.

_"A man can be himself only so long as he is alone; and if he does not love solitude, he will not love freedom; for it is only when he is alone that he is really free_"

Being properly clothed beats these regrets though. I'm actually surprised that the rags that I kept collecting from the "saved" villages held up in the harshest conditions of the season. Better yet, I found some clothes that actually suited me for once! What an _absolute_ miracle that was! Not once have I considered myself fashionable. Not in this lifetime, not in the previous one. As far as I'm concerned, if it fit, it's comfortable and I don't look like a jackass, then we're golden. Some called me lazy or a cheapskate because of it, and I'd tell them that they waste their breath, albeit more offensively.

Doesn't mean I can't bargain for some sweet deals, like this black hoodie jacket with some tribal sewing for example. This jacket in its self is nothing spectacular, but devil lies in details, and through some… underhanded methods and a costly amount of money, I've managed to get it infused with Earth Dust. Earth Dust will provide some good protection against many piercing and slashing attacks at the cost of a great weight that would stager many, but blunt attacks are fair game. I did that mostly because my fighting style, while not reckless, it's quite punishable if someone knows how to counter my advances. Fun thing is – scales on my back are quite sturdy, which means that any attack to my back are almost useless. Key word being "almost". As a wise man once said: "Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer", and not once these words saved my life in these five years.

Besides this hoodie, I managed to snag some dark-blue jeans and a T-shirt in a Second-hand store as well as a brown belt, brown boots, socks and pink boxers – everything essential to a member of society. The only thing that's left is to get acquainted with streets and alleyways of Vale and buy a guitar.

I can't help but laugh a little at the serenity of it all. I was a man of few word and a fewer actions in my previous run. That let me live a boring but accomplishing existence with nothing to my name, but with everything under my belt. And here I am, on my way to try and invigorate Remnant's culture by composing, singing and Quoting philosophers from memory just because I don't have my sleeping playlist with me. "Pitiful" some would say, "Strange" would say the others, and I'll answer with "Both" simply because I agree with them to some extent.

After all, we have to judge ourselves before judging others.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Greeting yet again, lovers of badly written texts. I had a lot of time to think about how the story would unfold along with the MC of the story. In the end, I have built a (hopefully decent) plot so it won't be as painful for you to read this fic, plus I will rename this shipwreck from the current title to "The Rising Earth" and edit the summary a little so it wouldn't be as stale. Considering that I wanted to make something fresh and do the opposite, I think it's deserved.**

**Edit: some minor along with major fixes here and there. Considering how long this story gone without an update I'm surprised you are still here. Oh well – it's for you to read and for me to write, so do as you see fit.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 3**

-Fate and Destiny – two words similar in nature but different in definition. I myself have no bones to pick with these two terms, I just want to look into them little deeper than I already did, plus who knows? Maybe my work will be acknowledged by the general populace and smart people! Bah! Who am I kidding, myself?

-Definitely.

-But let's not go of track with me being myself and look into the new can of worms that I'm about to open.

-But before diving into details, let's look at the textbook definition of both concepts and see the core difference between the two.

-Fate - The development of events outside a person's control, regarded as predetermined by a supernatural power.

-Destiny - The events that will necessarily happen to a particular person or thing in the future.

-So in two words, Fate is to blame when you whine if something bad happened to you outside of your control and Destiny is to blame when something bad happened and you haven't had the gall to do something about it.

-And I wondered why so many people blamed Destiny and Fate! It's just so convenient!

-But alas, they both also work in different circumstances. "You are Fated for greatness" means that you have no choice but to accept the fact. "You are Destined for greatness" means that you have a choice to live quiet and normal life or through hard work and passion you will be wherever you want to be. Frankly, I don't use Fate and Destiny in my life, because that will mean that I am trying to shift the blame from myself. Sure, a weak excuse but I'll stick to my guns. Anyway, I cannot deny that using them might explain some things even if not flawlessly so, for example:

-Was I Fated to see my home burned to ashes? No probably. I was destined to. Villages come and go but Safit was an accomplished long-term settlement, it was only a matter of time when until it would be overrun by Grimm at a voiceless command.

-But here's the flaw - We can't work with Fate as a term because in 95% of cases we can't determine the source of the "Higher Influence" and it all comes down to Destiny to explain things, which is easier to do.

-With this in mind, where does this leave us in terms of "Concluding ramblings"? Well, I don't know about you but one thing that I think is true enough is that Fate is not worth thinking to hard about and Destiny is generally brought up for dramatic effect while making a choice or, as I said way earlier, to shift the blame from yourself on the world around you.

-It's truly strange to me, if I am being honest. Despite (or should I say _in spite_) my moderate and relative knowledge of people being people, I still cannot understand them… us.

-I know I sound like a fucking edge-lord cretin, but hear me out before stop reading.

-In my previous run people, no matter how I loathe to admit it, were smarter than folks around here. People here, Faunus and Human alike, are quite _narrow-minded_ I guess you could say, and even in technology – it shows.

-Dust is material used in civil lives, Huntsmen duties and Military services alike. Throughout Remnants (relatively) unknown history it proved itself effective as a weapon against Grimm, source of power for tasks mundane and serious alike, and (should I say so) _currency of might and wealth_. Thais seemingly almighty resource is widely used all across the globe(?) in various forms, shapes and sizes. You might (hopefully) ask what I am getting at. _What is the problem that I try to tell you about_? Well, the answer is simple, like the simple nature of Remnant itself _and _its people.

-Lack of creativity and alternatives.

-When you look past all the magical bullshit, all the crutches that aura provides, all the colors and quirks – then you will see that Remnant is… _tame_ in the eyes of normal people. I haven't seen many people living their lives out here – merely _existing_ from day to day, sucking it up as something that it is what it is – a stroke of Fate and Destiny.

-It pisses me off, yet who am I to change the rules of a game when I am merely a guest? Not like I am in any position of power to bring change, _not even regarding the fact that I am talking more than doing right now_, I simply can't do much.

-Nothing's new then... World is still as Hellish as it already was in my eyes, _people_ are stupid and Destiny and Fate are inconsequential as ever… Well, at least I got my brain cells moving, that's a plus...

"Yeah, that's just pitiful" I amend while tearing out a page from journal in hand. Today, instead of staying and writing my diary/journal in the cheap smelly hotel room, that I already grew fond off, I decided to go into the city and explore it a bit. To be honest, I arrived in Vale not expecting much in terms of infrastructure and all things 'wonderful', and yet I familiarize myself with the vibrant and loud city life once again with added difference of 'Early Futurism' as I like to call it. The absolutely worst thing is that I am still accustomed to the silence of the forests grove, and my enhanced Faunus hearing along with loud city in which I came gives me no rest to my eardrums.

Surviving in a forest for five years would do that to you I reckon.

That's why I'm currently trying to adjust my hearing in the park of Agricultural District, sitting in the shade of a great tree in the middle of small grassy hill which is surrounded by water. An 'island' in the middle of a small pond, if you will.

While agricultural not the best of districts, my standards for civilization are mostly nonexistent at this point, so this is no problem of mine, as long as I am in tune with nature and my ears don't get blown out, then I am happy.

While humming "_Way Down We Go"_, I think of what to do with cards in hand and how to play them right. Currently there is nothing much on my hand: clothes on my back, my wits and collected money – three cards total. Awhile back I had four, but I decided to discard my previous weapon of choice because of its wear and tear.

What are my options as of now?

Obviously, I need to draw a card and get more information about the current time. For a long time I assumed that my age is akin to the main characters of the show, but after thinking about it, I understood that I can't half-ass things and hope they'll go my way, on a side note information will give me more 'creative freedom' as I'd like to put it.

While I can watch the news, Junior and the club will provide more insightful information on the questions asked and I intend to be a regular there if not applying for a job there. You see, if I remember correctly then Junior doesn't have much people with a good head on their shoulders and I can exploit the fact and rise in the ranks of 'goon' to maybe a third bouncer along with Malachite twins. Many generic pansies would question my choice of affiliation, and I wouldn't blame them. When someone, _somehow_, get's into their favorite show, the person 'lucky' enough would probably try and get together with the main cast and do some whacky shit. Thankfully I'm no such person, Nuh uh mister. There's just so many people of good and neutral character in the world that it sickens me. No one can appreciate a fun life these days, good thing that my weird outlook will add some colors into the fray. Still, my main goal for now would be to meet Roman Torchwick and Neo if possibly. Even if it's not safe to meet Mr. Steal Your Girl and a Wallet along with Staby Mary Poppins, I will do so anyway.

Don't ask why I want to meet them. Just draw your own conclusion and judge me from there.

…

Why do I tell my Subconscious to openly judge me?

Anyway – _The Plan._ 1st step – get a job at The Club and do my job well. 2nd - meet Roman and Neo and get their interest, 3rd – get in on this wild ride. The 4th step is a multi-optional one because I can either Double-cross Cinder with help of the Criminal Duo, Join the dark side or raise the stakes so high that Roman, Neo and I will have to get out from Cinder's thumb of oppression and just maybe get along with team RNJR and improvise from there – this option is unlikely and, quite frankly, boring. Things would go by the script and I don't want that. Animosity between _enemies-became-allies_ and all that stuff which is a stupid and an unlikely cliché.

Still, these plans are not guaranteed to be successful and have a lot of blanks between them, but if you won't risk it, you won't get the biscuit.

What about Penny and Pyrrha, you ask? Good question, _what about them_?

Well, I think it's safe to say that it won't change much if I decide to _somehow _save Penny. Pyrrha? While it would be inconvenient for Cinder to obtain full power of the Maiden and kill Pyrhha, I wouldn't care in the end, nor would I care much for Pyrhha. Cinder will be taken care of and Jaune needs a moment of hardship to push through and grow a spine.

Yeah, I am an amoral ass and a dirty opportunist with questionable life choices, but I have never claimed the opposite and I don't feel sorry. Why should I when all of this is so much fun?

Anyway, enough being a fucking nerd for now. Resource management – here we go.

Money, thankfully, is not a big concern. While living in the wild I still kept in touch with a village or two, so when the Grimm eventually would attack, I'd swoop in and defend the poor folks for a prize… _and a price_. Good thing that Lien are made of plastic, otherwise the cave that I lived in would not be a good place to keep my savings. Still, those patrols were a pain in the ass which didn't even prove themselves to be valuable. I got there when the smoke was rising and the "alarms" were blaring.

Why haven't I just stayed in a village and just proceeded with my life like this? Simple – I didn't belong, viewed people as crooked nails and I needed training. And tell me; is there a better training regime than being thrown to the wolves? There probably is a better one, but not only I am an exceptional fighter but also a grand survivor for it, plus who would have thought that through meditation I'll achieve Communion - another can of worms that won't be opened anytime soon.

Right, what else? Oh, I need to go to the blacksmith and get my equipment back. In time much earlier I was quite unsure if I had to go to Signal and drop out to forge my weapon of choice, but after some research in the Safit's library I discovered that there are forges that make weapons of war, but because of their availability the Council decided to add a fee so the blacksmiths would charge you not only the materials and work done but also a price of money decided by the Council on the type of weapon forged and/or bought. (Good thing there is no fee for repairs otherwise I think some would cause a riot)

Good thing that three years worth of savings help out with such a problem.

Even though they are running out at an alarming rate.

But there is one thing more important for me than info and a weapon. One thing so important that I can't think of an explanation why I haven't gotten it sooner.

A guitar...

Some musical equipment as well...

"Yeah, I gotta buy it ASAP. I don't know how I lived without much music by my side." With a grunt and a bit of effort, I stand up and look around. Currently it's June in the world Remnant, the air is warm and sun is halfway set behind the horizon, casting the little grove in its orange-ish hues. The most beautiful of pictures are drawn by Mother Nature herself, and there is no doubt about it. But the setting sun means that I don't have much time to go to shop.

"...Better hurry up". And with these words begins my little shopping spree.

On my way to Commercial district nothing of interest has happened except from two police cars speeding down the way I came (they hurt my ears though). Buildings didn't stand out to much and that is to be expected of the big city which needs to sustain the large number of people with living conditions. A couple of shops here, a restaurant there and a Dust shop right behind the corner. But my destination is placed right down the street that I'm walking on. _"Dust on the Water"_ it is called, and when I first heard of it I didn't even try to hold back an eye roll, it's just basically _Deep Purple's – "Smoke On the Water". _ The irony is in the fact that I researched what music is there on Remnant, apparently every continent has their own cultural instruments and instead of making music, people make melodies mostly without text's just to listen to strum of the guitar or the whistling of a flute for example.

I also would like to specify to which region a certain "cultural" instruments are bound. To Vale – all instruments with strings in them, like lutes and guitars. To Atlas – all key-bound instruments, like pianos and accordions. To Mistral – all wind-bound instruments, like kazoos and flutes. And finally, to Vacuo – drums... Just drums of various designs. I, too, was unimpressed with this revelation when I first heard it. I'll even admit that it was a bit dishearting to hear – instruments that are not used to their full potential outside of their borders are no good instruments at all… No, that would be wrong to say. Its people who play them after all, and it would be wrong to blame a guitar of high quality when the one who plays it comes from Atlas. Atlasians and guitar do not mix' general populace says, and I can't disagree. Still won't agree on the basis of Victor being proficient enough.

Good thing that I have musical renaissance in mind, so that every instrument would be appreciated in any hand given.

Not gonna miss a chance to do something _this _great for once.

If "Fate" decides to throw me a bone mixed with drugs then maybe some plot related characters will help me with that.

But that's just a fantasy of a lunatic! I mean, what are the odds..?

Shit. Did... did I just jinx myself?

Well... to hell with it, it would be impossible for me to do it alone anyway, and it sounds like fun. Still, not a guarantee though, and I'm glad it's not.

With my internal musings aside, the shop's door is opened with a typical chime of the bell, that alone makes me want to roll my eyes. This establishment is the best in comparison with other similar shops and quality is what I need right now. Behind the counter sits a scrawny, and most importantly, bored young man that is reading a magazine called _"Huntsmen Tales Weekly". _By his slouched posture and legs-on-desk approach to work, it's not hard to understand that he doesn't want to be here… _at all._ Seeing a lost cause, I quickly walk by so we both could be on our merry way. Currently I'm looking for a simple Acoustic Guitar and a wonder of Remnant's technology called a Pocket Synthesizer. Pocket Synthesizer utilizes the technology of collapsible weapons into itself so it can be collapsible - logic.

How does that work? No idea! Is it convenient? Hell, yeah! Does it weight the same? Unfortunately.

Though because of its design you will have to buy Synth's stand separately, but it comes with straps so you can hang it on and play.

And that's what I'm looking for… even though I have no Idea how to use a sinth.

Wasting money? Yeah, most likely.

Do I regret it..? Wait, fuck the synth – I don't need it.

Better leave it where I took it, 'cause fuck that. Money doesn't grow on trees for me to waste.

While there is a lot of additional equipment that can be used to create new sounds, my wish list should be enough for now, though a small flute won't hurt my budget…

…

I don't know how to use it either… fuck the flute!

Good thing that it hasn't took a lot of time to find what I need. An ordinary 6-straing acoustic guitar made of radiant wood taunted me with its curves and the hole in the middle from its place on the shelf in the far back of the establishment. In my hands it felt light, barely a feather in comparison. The scratch plate, or '_black-plate-near-the-sound-hole'_ was decorated with patterns of dandelions with their curling stems painted into it. White outlines contrasted with black scratcher beautifully, in my opinion.

I gave each string a strum and proceeded to play one of the easiest riffs known to me. Slow and melodious tune of "_Batareyka_" rang in my immediate vicinity.

Down, down, down, up my hand went to the cords of _Am_, _G_, _F_, _E_. Three times more this process is repeated until if find it's windy sound pleasant to the ear. But I'm not done yet with testing. One more thing that's left to do is to give it a couple of slap and listen.

The slaps are dull yet meaty – usable.

Already at the counter, the guy that was sitting there haven't even moved a muscle "_I wonder if he's a mannequin_", now that's a thought that never crossed my mind before. "_At least he's breathing._"

Without even lifting his eyes from the mag, he slurs in a bored tone "Just put the money on the counter and go."

That's one hell of a customer service.

Even though he probably wouldn't care if I just ran the fuck out, I complied, no need to cut his paycheck any further than it already is. And with a chime of bells I leave the place, it was kinda creepy dealing with the guy, not gonna lie.

With my instrument put into the guitar case, there's nothing holding me back from my next destination... Forge.

Surviving in the forest taught me to respect The Laws of Nature and how to deal with Grimm. And these two core lessons helped me with the choice of weaponry. At home and wild places, a weapon should be reliable and versatile. That, along with my prior life at the village and beyond basically showed my weapon into my hands.

An Axe.

Axe is a weapon of strength, Axe was used by man from the dawn of time as the Tool for cutting trees and a Weapon of War for cutting heads and that is a fact. Interestingly enough Swords and Axes weight mostly the same, but Sword's weight is equally balanced which gives us the ability to use a wide variety of strikes and techniques. Axes however has their weight concentrated in the head of the Axe for devastating swings that can not only cut a man in half with enough momentum and power but to destroy armor and crush the defense of your adversary. But with Axe's destructive capabilities comes a great flaw.

Axe is not a weapon for a defensive style of combat.

And that is also a great comparison with a Sword. While Swords have one-on-one fencing duels in mind, Axes excel at big brawling types of encounters. And I believe that was the reason why Vikings were so feared in their time. Just imagine, you stand on the defense of some village, Sword and Shield in hand, And you hear this Battle cry of five dozens of 7 foot monsters in the flesh, charging at you with wide variety of Axes: Dane Axe, Executioner's, Felling, Dual Wielded Axe's and some more. Not only was this a great psychological attack but a physical one too. One unwavering tide of savages that won't stop and stand in line to duel one weakling. No, this tide will destroy and ravage. And for that, I will pay respects to Vikings of my era – great warmongers and men of unrelenting will.

Still there is a way to fix this major flaw of the Axe. Solution?

Strap a shield to your forearm.

What is the difference between a Forearm Shield and a regular one? The difference is that a Forearm Shield provides more offensive capability and stability while a regular one is more of a defensive choice. But it wearies on the Shield's form and grip along with the users liking.

And that is why I'm here, at the Forge, to collect my means of harming other- I mean, means of _self defense, _of course.

Ending this game of table tennis for one, I spot my destination – "_Battle Machine_". "_Reasonable prices for unreasonable people_" is their slogan. Accurate, considering your average Joe can't just buy a weapon on a whim.

I actually have acquainted myself with its blacksmith – Alex Seaside. Tall and gruff looking man in his thirties with strong features, but like me he is actually a gentle guy with social inaptability. How do I know this? I accidentally asked him a question about family and his tough and unwelcoming facade just melted like ice-cream on a hot day. Family photos, stories, achievements, all this kind of stuff. Many would just nod along and do their own thing but by showing interest we quickly became friends.

Don't get me wrong and let me be clear – I did _not _do this to get a discount.

You see, I have this un-Earthly fascination with psychology and worldviews of people around me. From my experience, there is almost no identical person in mind – everyone is a separate being and trying to understand them, even if a little is incredibly joyous to me. It may be a stranger hobby of mine, but within my mind it's reasonable as anything that comes to my head.

"Haven't seen him in a week. Wonder how he's doing." I open the door to reveal a familiar sight of weapon of all types hanging on walls and displays. The man is absent from his place at the counter. Walking up to it, I ring the 'customer bell' and with its chime a loud "I'm coming!" is heard from the backdoor. Just to annoy him I ring three more times. In response - "Have some fucking patience, alright!? "Is followed by heavy irritated steps.

Alex walks in wearing his usual get-up of a simple shirt with pants of different shades of blue. An apron hangs onto his frame for protection in the forge and goggles on his head for the same reason. He sees me just standing there with a smirk, and with a dramatic sigh he chuckles.

"You're an ass, you know that?" with a chuckle of my own I give my hand for a handshake.

"Wouldn't take it any other way. Hello Sasha, how's my weapons are doing?" small smile appears on his face.

Fun fact: some English names have Russian counterparts, like mine for example. "Michael" in English can be remade into "Mikhail" and then to a pet name "Misha" which means, you guessed it, bear.

How original, no?

"You know, your order is so 'down to earth' that I will miss working on it" I raise a brow at that.

"That easy? Or in comparison to these weird huntsman kids roaming around?"

"Both!" we erupt with giggles with that one. After some time roaming Vale I understood why Torchwick was so displeased about strange kids. All these _goodie-two-shoes _kids roaming around, trying to be heroes and seeking trouble when they should sit on their asses without complaint. I don't even want to talk about it.

After reigning in our amusement, I ask "Are they ready?"

"Scarily so. You lucky that you are a good kid, 'because normally I don't toy with these kinds of orders." The best compliment I'll ever get. When I told him that, he narrowed his eyes a little "Don't sell yourself short, Misha. You have a good head on your shoulders, unlike many, and smart people see that."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Sasha, but I think I have it handled. Besides, I'm eager to see my equipment" honest smile is plastered on my mug.

"Alright, alright, Keep your pants up, now would you?" with these words he goes back to the backroom. I take the Lien and count them – the price was arranged long ago.

But to my surprise, he brought out a long black suitcase. I raise a brow "Am I a special treatment or you give a case to every customer?"

A devilish grin appears on his face"Little bit of both. Now, take a look."

The case is placed on the counter, opening it revealed red velvet casing decorating it on the inside. But in the gaps of velvet lies an Axe akin to Executioner's. By my request the handle is Earth Dust Infused so it would synergies with my Semblance. In the middle of the Axe's handle thin hollow line is visible. With a twist I pull the handle apart, elongating it. Previous oversized hatchet became the Executioner Axe in just a pull – easy and simple. That was not all, however, for I repeated the same process and in my hands a Dane axe was resting – easily as tall as I am. As you could guess, the whole thing was made of metal, like a "Tactical" Axe. To be honest it saddened me a little, so used I was to a wooden handle of the usual axe and the foreign feel of steel in my palms left me slightly uncomfortable.

I will have to get used to it, I guess.

Axe Head was a completely different thing altogether. Its edge was crescent, like a half moon. Silver edge gleamed and sang through the air with its movements, from its Heel to its Toe.

The Beard was sharpened almost all the way to the handle, but some space was left – otherwise it would be inconvenient to sharpen when the time is right and dangerous when I'll be griping it by its Neck.

The Poll (backside) was broader than you would see in comparison with the conventional axe, and there is a reason for that. No matter how you look at it, Axe in its nature is a sharpened club that can break bones and shatter them if need be. So I decided to not limit myself with a cold edge only and add a blunt meat tenderizer there as well.

You know… for self-defense porpoises.

My last requested detail is a Greek number 3 engraved to the Cheeks (sides) of the axe and the whole thing colored black with blue streaks here and there. It felt fitting

With a twist and a pull, a Hatchet with an oversized axe-head was guided to the small of my back where the straps were made for it.

Next order of business was a meal, plated bracer that was elegantly laid in the case. In length it was from the elbow to the wrist and its design was fairly… boring, like the axe's but even plainer. Its solid body was the color of steel with only its edges colored black. Along it ran a crevice in the metal which was accented by an extravagantly engraved circle with an image of steel _Dandelion _in the middle of it.

What a coincidence, and yet it's funny none the less, considering the symbolism that the Gardeners Pest carries.

I take off my hoodie and give it to Alex for a minute to put the bracer on myself. He stumbles from the weight of Earth Dust within while I adjust the straps.

"Why in the hell you hoodie is so heavy and how do you even wear it?"

I can't help but huff amusedly at his visibly strained features as the bracer gently slides onto my skin. "It's the secret of the trade, and I can wear it because I'm strong and you aren't" His face turned red either from effort or indignation as he looked at me like I have grown a second head.

"Kid, I swing my hammer, mold the metal and dive into mechanisms that require a decent amount of strength on daily basis. If you say that I'm weak, then I don't even want to know how much you can lift!" I smile as the shield unfurls and three quarters of a second.

"That's Aura for you" What a crutch.

A Bracer-Shield that extends from the forearm is a beauty. Activation mechanism in this one is simple as well: from the innermost part, a cord stretches to my thumb and when I pull it the shield clothes in and out – like a light switch.

Simple, effective and doesn't require _too much_ maintenance – just like it should be.

"That's a beautiful work of art, my friend. I appreciate it" I smirk as my shield closes as I take the unnecessary weight off of his hands. "It would be a shame if haven't showed my appreciation properly"

"Huh?"

"If I remember correctly, then today is the birthday of your daughters, Lily and... Rosie, right?" a confused hum of confirmation is an answer given.

"I just so happened to make a detour while walking here _and I just so happened_ to buy two presents" His eyes widen because of this turn of events. "For real?" his voice just went on a pitch higher.

"Yes, here they are." I grab two little boxes from my pockets and show him the contents – two silver broaches with engravings of the namesake flowers on them.

What's up with me and flowers today? It's not even funny anymore.

He tears up a little. And I am once again proven right that the small things matter the most.

"Well... thank you. Haven't thought that you would remember"

"You're welcome. Lien is on the counter if you wondering"

With a small wave I depart into the evening streets of Vale...

Or I would if didn't get called out.

"Hey, kid" I turn my head to see him with an easy smile on his face.

"Yes?"

"Would you care to have a dinner with my family?"


	4. Time Spent For Naught

**A/N: Hello to those unfortunate enough to get to this point with me. The story is picking up the pace a little, so insted of doing some 'advertisment' this story will go somwhere (yay!). The only problem problem I have with this story is that not long after the first chapter I discovered that WW3 is being memed on/advertised. Either it's a stroke of Irony or it's just me being an idiot, but I expected at least 5 to 15 years before the shit went down the drain. More than likely it will be remembered as a small conflict that ended fast without too much action.****But who knows how these events will turn out. Anyway, the only thing I own is my OC/s. Have a good time!**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"_Would you care to.. have a dinner with my family?" Alex asks with a smile somewhat indecisively. Honestly, this is a strange situation to be in. If I were in his place, I wouldn't invite him to my place and spend time with my family, if I had one. I wouldn't do it, even if we are friends, because I would keep a slight gap between my family and my friends. Strange way to keep a friend, but meh. I am basicaly a stranger to the family of Seasides and this all makes me slightly uncomfortable. But not unbearable. While it's a litle unconvenient, I have no problems with visiting my friends's home. But I wounder why thought. Maybe he just wants me to meet them. There is a possibility of Alex telling his family about me. And that is one the of the reason I can come up on the fly. Maybe his family wanted to meet me? It's posible. Maybe his daughters showed curiosity about me and he had this stellar idea. Gotta find out._

"_...This is an interesting offer, but why though?" Human interactions never were my strong side. I can expertly twist words in a dangerous or irrelevant situations, but a normal friend-to-friend interaction? Straight forward approach – it's so straight that you might as well get a battering ram and hit someone with it. Not that it's a bad way of communication, it's just disheartening to a degree but it get's the work done. So why not?_

_I decide to observe his body language (though it's unneeded). I was glad that I had the knowlege how to do so. Even if a person decides to lie to you verbaly, you still have a chance to understand what is hiden between the lines. After all, even if you don't talk to much, your body movements (that are done conciously and unconciusly) do 70 percent of the talking._

_Saging shoulders and a hand rubing behind his neck suggest that he is uncomfortable or shy about something, but the still present smile tells me that it's amusing in any way._

"_Well, funny lil' story. While eating eating breakfast my wife – Carmine, asked me about my work. Nothing out of ordinary happened, untill I mentioned 'a good kid', which means you." I couldn't help but raise a brow. I think to myself "So, his family is just curious and he decided to invite me? Not worst of reasons, but let's see"_

"_So, are they just curious, or something?" I belive it's the most logical conclusion. Child's curiousity is a constant thing, when you are young you see the world around you as some wounder that has to be unraveled. And with a need of knowlege – questions come like the river without a damb. This curiousity about the world around us gently becomes curiousity for the people around us and people around our loved ones. Add to it Alex's atitude towards strangers and sudenly I became a person of interest._

"_Yeah.. You summed it up pretty well, but you haven't let me finsh the story" He grumbled without any real heat, and why would he? I'm pretty sure that he know that this is not much of a story, but knowing him – he'll tell it nonetheless._

"_You know what? I'll tell you on the way there. My shift has ended and I don't want to keep my angels waiting." _

_I look at the time: 10pm – there's some time to spare and I realy don't mind wasting time with my friend. As far as I'm concerned, Junior's is a _Night Club_ for the Great Spirit's sake! With a shrug I respond._

"_Meh, might as well. I'll waste an hour or two, lead the way." With a pat on a shoulder and a flip of a 'closed' sign, we make our way from the closed forge to his apartment, weapon case in hand. _

_His home is just a block down the street, so to pass the time we spoke of Was and When, though, he did ask me when did I bought a guitar, since I haven't bought it at the time of our meeting. I told him that it was my childhood passion acting up and decided to humour it – that's it. No need to ruin the surprise of me aiming high and well above the curent musical standard._

_But that reminded me about some worrying detail. When I was searching local musical trends on my Scroll, a thought crossed my mind and I immediatly took action upon it's apperance._

_The thoght was that I should check and find Weiss' song. What's so worrying about it?_

_The fact that it doesn't exist, that's what worries me._

_Sure, it may be not a perfomance for general public, but the fact that SDC publicated the Winter Solstice Ball on DustTube for _'entertainment reasons'_ speaks otherwise. All of this leaves me with two options to think of. First option is that I'm wrong and Weiss' perfomance wasn't public and/or there is no recordings of it. And then there is the second option that I think Is the most reasonable._

_In terms of RWBY timeline, I may be stranded in the past. I certaintly hope so – more time to reek havoc and make music. But that brings the question 'how much time do I have?'_

_And that's why I will go to Junior's: to get work and to get info– wait a second._

_If Schnees are that influencial, then there should be no problem with me searching Schnee family members up on the CCTNet._

_Or even better yet, whatch the 'effin news about the White Fang and be done with it!_

_But NO! I just have to be a Complete Idiot instead of a normal idiot and forget about all of that!_

_Unfortunatly, my inner grumbling wasn't as unnoticable as I might have thought it was._

"_Hey, kid, what's wrong? You seem annoyed." he asked with little concern, He probably thinks that I'm grumbling at his lil' story – which I havent paid much attention to. _Shit. _Quickly, brain, think of some half truth that I can get away with..._

"_...Sorry, it's just that every bad choise in my life decided to pop up and ruin my evening. It usualy happens before sleep. Know what I mean?"_

_His cringing face told me more than he probably would._

"_Yeah. Not the best of feelings."_

_Nailed it – crisis averted. I'll look up the Schnees later._

_He decided to continue his 'funny lil story' as we walk onto the nightly streets of Vale (which are quite beautiful if I may ad). In the end, his daughters cornered him with their puppy dog eyes and he had no chance but to agree with the terms. I laughed at such an end of the story. With a small smile, he hit me upside the head and said "Wait until they'll hit you with it and then try not to buckle under preasure. We will see who will be laughing then."_

_With a fair warning noted, we came around the corner to our destination – a small building with two floors. The first floor was occupied by a small bakery called "Hun's Buns", an interesting name, no doubt. Displays are empty for the night, lights turned of, chairs are on the tables – all signs that the establishment is closed._

_He told me that his family lives on the second floor of the bakery and it's even run by them. Even if they didn't, I would still walk by and get something. Small buisneses like these are known for the quality of their products and passion of the owners. "Why someone decided to give such a controversial yet such a brave name to their buisnes?" I ask as we make our way to the door. An amused huff is heard from my right along with the sound of jingling keys. "When Carmine decided to open shop, I asked the same question. She said that she needed something catchy and memorable, and what's more memorable than the little innuendo?"_

"_That makes some sence, but what about your opinion on the matter?" In that moment the lock opens with a dull sound of sliding metal and then he answers in a whisper._

"_Would you want to argue with _a detirmened woman and her logic_, boy?"_

"_...I see your point, and it's sound as any."_

* * *

"Thought so." He closed the door behind us as I stand by, waiting for Alex so I could follow him up. Looking around, pictures hang on the walls. Majority of them are dedicated to loyal customers shaking hands, half huging and making group photoes, if I assume correctly, with Carmine. From this distance I can't make the deteials out but it's not a problem, we'll see each other in a minute anyway. Yet, the atmosphiere of this place feels homely even when it's closed. I certaintly would swing by someday.

Observations can wait however, because we are about to go upstairs and face the music. Never mind my inner musings about me being paranoid/calculative, I'm actualy fairly excited to meet Alex's wife and kids. One small problem though – I don't know how to talk with kids. But I do know that children don't like brooding people, and to be likable while brooding you gotta be mysterious (which I am not), so I'll stick with the usual "Usual Happy Guy" atitude.

I mean, it's quite off puting to live in a world full of black and white, and I think you can't drive this point further than the Gods of _Light and Dark_. This theme of "Good vs Bad" was fitting for the show in my opinion – character are more exaggerated, there is a clear contrast between characters and it all made even more sence when this Vol. 1-3 _fairytail _came crushing down to earth. Because, like in real life, dreams don't last long. Maybe that why I liked Roman and Merc so much. Roman was not a villain of this story, but an antagonistic man desperate to survive. And Mercury had no choise but to join Cinder if he wanted to survive the aftermath of his fight with Marcus (even if he sisn't mind it much). And that is what I liked the most – the thing that is easily overlooked by many.

Behind the mask of The Hero and The Monster lies the story of a Man. And the thing that separates them is the flip of the coin.

It's decided! The next entery in my journal will be about m-

"You alright there, kid? You looked like you have lost all thought, or something" My thought gets interupted as I find myself at the apartment's door. I don't know how did I get up here, but we take those.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Just lost signal for a moment" I He observes me scepticaly, but I haven't lied about being fine.. At lest I hope I didn't lie. Once you lie to yourself one too many times, it _may_ become a strugle to tell when you are lying yourself _and _to yourself.

"You sure?" While your concern is apreciated, I think I can take care of myself.

"Positive, but don't worry about me. We are here not to make an intervension, are we?" I gesture towards the door so we can finally go. His face becomes on a shade brighter with emarasement about the fact the fact that we were just standing there.

"Oh.. Right" Hastly he take out his apartment keys and not soon after the door opens.

"I'm home! _And _I've brought a friend that you wanted to meet!" After he takes a step in front of me, for exactly 3 seconds there is calm, and then two blurs _slam_ into his midsection. With his wind knocked out of him he falls to the ground. Or would have fallen if I haven't clumsily caught him. And so he is tilted at (probably) 45 degries, stiff as a walking bord as I hold him with one hand on his back, while there are two little girls that are lying on his chest _somehow._ Better not to think too much about it. Safe bet says: RWBY physics.

"Dad! You are finaly here!" Exclaims a girl in his left arm. Her smile glints in the liting of this little hallway. Her hair is suprisingly purple-ish red but her eyes carry the same blue colour that Alex has.

"And where's your super cool friend?" On the other hand hangs the second sibling, and from the looks of it, they are twins with inversed colour schemes – purple-ish red eyes and blue hair adorn her features simmilar to her sister's: eyes full of joy, puffy cheeks and small noses.

Her question throws me off guard a little. I'm standing _right over_ his shoulder. Well, I'll make my presence known then.

"I'm right here, if you still wondering" two pair of eyes with enough energy to shoot lazers rise to meet my own.

But this energy is replaced by shynes as they avert their gezes.

"Can you get of your dad so we can meet properly?" I try to get us out of this akward position, I mean realy? Is it a cheap cartoon or something?

Oh, wait..

Before I can fire more shots at the show, girls comply to my suggestion and get off of Alex who is finaly standing upright. At my pointed look he shrugs his shoulders, as if saying 'what can you do?' Anyway, two girls that are as high as my belly stand before me side by side. I bend a knee so they wouldn't strain their necks while talking to me.

Finally on a same eye level, I breack the ice with a smile. "Hello, girls. My name is Michael but you can call me Misha"

In return I get shy smiles and the blue haired girl starts while averting her eyes.

"H-hello, Misha. I'm Violet"

"A-and I'm Rosie" She finishes quietly.

I raise a mental brow at their greeting. While they may be shy, I dont think it's that simple..

"My, am I that scary to you? Is it the hood?" I don't take off my hood very often because it hides my ears. Don't take me wrong, it's not like I have something to hide, it's just more convenient that way – no stray racist giving you a stink-eye in hopes of ruining your mood, no closed doors to human only shops, plus the hood helps with mufling sounds. But along with conveniece comes a small bump in social interactions and me wearing dark colors doesn't help. My feeling is confirmed when they nod and look at the ground. I chuckle at the fact. As a kid, I also was scared of someone dark and brooding once. The irony is that I wasn't expecting the role reversal "Don't be ashamed, I understand."

I take of the hood.

I'll admit, a small pit opened in the botom of my stomach right then and there. Who knows how girls will react to me being a Faunus. But I don't think that Alex and Carmine are of the racist folk and would teach their children bigotry. Especialy since I know Alex is ok with it.

Thankfuly, it seems like happy gasps of air signal the wave of.. excitement? Yep. This situation spells trouble for me, and I dont like it. Maybe they'll won't ask to many quest-

"Can we touch your ears?!"

"How it feels to see in the dark!?"

"Do you sleep through winters?!"

...Knew it.

Many questions came foolding like an avalanche in the Atlasian mountains. I shift my eyes to Alex, a plead for help in them. But the man is looking at the coat hanger while whistling quietly enough to not shift their atention to himself and loud enough for me to hear.

"_heheh. Bastard"_

My saviour came in a form of a midle aged woman with waist-long purpulish red hair, eyes of the same breed and a tall and healthy figure adorned with a simple shirt and pants. I mean, who _isn't _looking like a supermodel in RWBY?

..Wait, do _I _look like a supermodel...? Nah. I'm actualy quite proud that my look's are below avarage... At least I think they are below avarage.

"Girls, slow down with your questions a bit, he'll answer them later if he is going to join us at the table tonight" She looks at me with an amused glint in her eye, wondering what I will say.

I callenge her gaze with a confident smile as I stand up from kneeling position as girls scury away.

"Only if you'll have me" I extend a hand.

"Michael Korichniviy, or Brown in normal speech. Glad to meet you" We shake hands.

"Carmine Seaside,I'm glad to meet you to. I see that my girls already giving you a hard time" Mirth in her tone probably says that she expected it.

"Quite assertive these two, but it's nothing I couldn't handle" At this moment, Alex decided to join in the conversation.

"_Nothing you couldn't handle_' you say? From my point of view it's _you_ that just got handled" He says as he laughs at that.

I chuckle myself "Won't blame you for thinking that. It was somewhat overwhelming interacting with them, but I'll manage"

"I hope so. Don't want you to scare you of so early" aded Carmine cheerfuly "But we can talk more at the diner table, don't you think?" She pointed behimd her back at, presumably, lounge in which two sisters already bolted into.

"With plasure"

But Time is merciless it seems, because all good things will come to an end. And so the end of this small gathering draws near as the clock ticks closer and closer to 23:00 .

I enjoyed my time here, won't lie. I haven't explored much, for there was no reason to. But the lounge in it's self was cosy and spacious if somewhat steriotipical. A large and comfy red sofa along with a few chairs were surrounding a white wooden table that looked quite excuisite considering the room's primary color was red and black of dark crimson shades. This choise of colors is nice and it looks good, but a bit stylish for my taste, Alex and I stood out like sore thumbs in contrast with it. But I'll give credit where it's due and say that I like it.

I curently sit on one of the lush chairs, looking up the news of the week.

The evening in it self was pleasant. We laughed, ate, shared stories/shenanigans and generaly, had a good time. It was kinda akward being the center of atention of two curious girls that kept on asking random questions, but I haven't said a word against it, otherwise I'd back down from my word and I am a one stubborn idiot. Still, their fuel eventualy ran out and we now have to wrap things up. But before I go I have to thank them all properly

"Thank you for inviting me to your birthday party" I say to Alex and Carmine as they were about to stand up.

"Heh, girls enjoyed it to so don't sweat it. Right, girls?"

"Yeah!" they both cutely exclaim at the same time. It warms my heart that I was able to cheer up these two to such an extent.

And for that I want to leave a lasting impresion.

I chuckle at their antiques "Be as it is, but let me leave you with a small parting gift"

"And what is it?" asks Carmine, the exhaustion of the busy day slowly overtaking her festures.

"It's a simple present, really" With these words, I reach behind the chair in which I'm sitting and pull out...

"A gutar?"

"No. A song"

"Oh.."

"Don't "Oh' me, Carmine. A song is a great gift." Irritation slips into my tone. Who wouldn't be anoyed when their favorite something was insulted. "Especialy if it's a good one"

"Yeah.. Sorry about that" she's not sorry at all.

"But you know how many 'songs' there are, so I'm a bit sceptical. Besides, I don't know how you sing" And she has a point. Not much good can be said about the curent music of Remnant..

For now.

"You have a point, but I think you'll like what I've got cookin' "

With all the atention on me, I lay back, one leg over the other, as my hand slowly brushes against the chords with the resonating soud of vibrating strings. "_But what song should I play for them?_"I look around the room for inspiration, but the room has nothing particulary inspiring in it. A small painting of the Emerald Forest Hangs on the wall behind the couch, but it isn't very fiting for a song nor does it fit with the decour of the room for that matter. A bundle of flowers sits in a tall and slim vase.

No, there's nothing fitting in it for this moment.

"_Come on! There has to be something" _As my internal panic rears it's ugly head, I try to stall with some melodious strumming. But I'm in luck, because it seems that the perfect theme sits right across from me.

Literally.

Two sleepy girls look at me with antcipation of what I will do. Even when their eyes are half lidded, in them I see sparks of energy and..

Hope.

"_Bingo_"

**(Play: High Hopes by Panic At The** **Disco. Acoustic or not – your choise) **

As my hands suddenly blur into motion, I start to convey my message.

"_Mama said"  
"Fulfill the prophecy"  
"Be something greater"  
"Go make a legacy"  
"Manifest destiny"  
"Back in the days"  
"We wanted everything, wanted everything"_

"_Mama said"  
"Burn your biographies"  
"Rewrite your history"  
"Light up your wildest dreams"  
"Museum victories, everyday"  
"We wanted everything, wanted everything"_

Alex smiles as Carmine make a 'pleasantly surprised' face. I would to, if I were in her place.

The girls like it as well.

"_Mama said don't give up, it's a little complicated"  
"All tied up, no more love and I'd hate to see you waiting"_

"_Had to have high, high hopes for a living"  
"Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing"  
"Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision"  
"Always had high, high hopes"  
"Had to have high, high hopes for a living"  
"Didn't know how but I always had a feeling"  
"I was gonna be that one in a million"  
"Always had high, high hopes"_

With each word sang, euphoria overwhelms my sences. Is that how singers feel when they are performing?

"_Mama said"  
"It's uphill for oddities"  
"The stranger crusaders"  
"Ain't ever wannabes"  
"The weird and the novelties"  
"Don't ever change"  
"We wanted everything, wanted everything"_

Doesn't matter. I enjoy my time and that what matters.

"_Stay up on that rise"  
"Stay up on that rise and never come down"  
"Stay up on that rise"  
"Stay up on that rise and never come down"_

"_Mama said don't give up, it's a little complicated"  
"All tied up, no more love and I'd hate to see you waiting"  
"They say it's all been done but they haven't seen the best of me"  
"So I got one more run and it's gonna be a sight to see"_

I wink at the twins.

I blurt out "Help me out", hopefully they'll catch on to what I mean.

"_Had to have high, high hopes for a living"  
"Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing"  
"Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision"  
"Always had high, high hopes"_

They didn't, but the song won't wait.

And so am I.

"_Had to have high, high hopes for a living"  
"Didn't know how but I always had a feeling"  
"I was gonna be that one in a million"  
"Always had high, high hopes"_

_"Had to have high, high hopes for a living"  
"Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing"  
"Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision"  
"Always had high, high hopes"_

_"Had to have high, high hopes for a living"  
"Didn't know how but I always had a feeling"  
"I was gonna be that one in a million"  
"Always had high, high hopes"_

As the song fades into nothing, I recive well deserved aplause. Only one way to finish this now.

With a Mock Bow

Did I forget to mention that I'm a giant-ass show-off?

* * *

**A/N: I may have underestimated the amout of effort needed for this, but I won't give up so easily! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here we are again, with the update schedule akin to the quality of this story - Inconsistent. Glad you decided to stick around with me writing this dumpster fire. I'm actualy surprised, belive it or not. I was expecting a lot more "boo's!" and tomatoes flying everywhere, go figure. I will try****to up my game in writig department (as always) but I cannot guarantee that the quality of this work will improve, but it's worth a shot either way. After all, you have to loose to know how to win. And so it begins. Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts and prepare for the crash-'n-burn. The only thing that is mine here is my OC, the rest goes to their owners, from songs and ideas**** that sprung**** conciously and**** unconciously,**** to the show itself. Hope you enjoy.**

**Devilman by Platina Jazz. You'll know when to play it.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

-Religion – A tool used by ancient man to explain unexplainable, give meaning to meaningles, to have faith in the better future instead of building it, and to gain power through faith in a "Holly cause". In other words, a group gathering under a single banner to do.. what exactly? To lie to youself so you would feel secure? To claim power and deceive masses? To be recognised as meaningful...? I guess it doesn't matter, the thing that matters_, _however, is the fact that religion didn't do much good.

-I know I'm pretty biased, but hear me out.

-In my opinion, religion has no meaning and is not needed in present times. As was said earlier, in time long pased, Man did not understand why the wind was blowing softly one day, and why there was unimaginable dizaster on his doorstep in the next day. I can only quess what the Man felt, but I think I know what thoughts were going through his head when he saw some masive cone of swirling clouds and destruction.

-He felt insignificant. Small. _Weak. _He felt **fear **from the revelation of forces so chaotic and uncontrolable. He felt like an ant, clinging for his life on small leaf that drifts further and further into the storm. He could have felt a lot of things, but this is what I have probably felt if I was in his place.

-But a Man is nothing if not a resourseful creature. When he saw the tornado, he wanted to know what it is. He wanted knowlege to know how to fight the anomaly. But to gain it, one has to observe – and observe he did, and what he saw did not bring him comfort. Violent wind that pierced through him and left a numb sensation of dread. Trail of destruction left by it's 'tip' reminded him of a child that decided to throw around anything in it's reach because it's parents said 'no'. But unlike child toys, the vortex of wind throws everything it can lift up, from a tree to a man. And finaly, the twisting clouds in a furious dance that seemed so livid, so...

-Wrathful. "_But whose wrath have_ **I**.._ have _**we**_, called?_" a Man probably thought. "_Is there someone or something that have set this upon us?_" the Man looked at the sky, mind racing with thoughts and theories.

-And that was the time when the religion was begining to be a part of our world, at least in my humble opinion, but I claim no superiority or correctness of my opinion. There are probably more reasonable theories than mine.

-From my perspective, it made sence. People belived in 'forces fair and well above' because it was what they wanted to belive in. They wanted to belive that there is _someone, somwhere_ in control of power beyond, rather than to know that there is nothing to hold us back from the unfortunate end. This belief of the outsider's infuence, while understandable from the psychological perspective, is sickening to me. Why seek the guilty when there are none? Why frame those who have no relation to the incedent? Why won't we aknowlege the fact that shit happens and we can do nothing but accept the fact? This line of reason would be correct if not for one glaring flaw.

-The outsider's influence is always an option. No matter how big or small the problem is, there is always a posibility of someone or something interfering...

-But I'd be a fool to not recognise the need of religion in the past...

-Where am I going with this...?

-Ah, yeah – Religion in moder society. I find it marvelous that the people of Remnant are independant from religion as a whole. There is no defined worship of the Brother Gods, but the belief in them still excists. That is actualy very progressive. As said earlier, religion was used as an explanation to the forces outside of our control (Fate, for example, which exists only because some smart guy said that "God has a plan" and everyone belived him). And now with the rise of technology there is no need for religious practices to explain how the world works and hold back the masses. As a wise man once said: "A man in a robe, claiming comunion with the devine – Madness". But there is one problem that I came across personaly.

-Comunion can be achieved.

-But before I dive into my past, I will clear something up – Brother Gods left Remnant and they are not coming back. And that means no contact with them can be established.

-To whoever is (probably) reading this: You may call me a madman for what I am writing, but don't you dare insult my work because you don't want to see the world further than your own nose. But if you are willing to read this far, then might as well entertain your curiousity, no?

-This happened on the third year of my survival in the forest, when I was fifteen back in the day. These three years were harsh – change in the enviroment from homely to aggressive, daily Grimm fights for the survival, strugle to find food to eat and an age disadvantage along with my undeveloped body. The list goes on, but I think you get the point: it wasn't easy. The only equipment I had back then were the rags on my back, basic knowlege of nature, a wetstone and a Woodcutter's Axe – no suplies, no nothing. Thankfuly, my Aura has awoken during the invasion and without it I would probably be dead. It's green shine brings me comfort to this day.

-Anyway, once after a failed hunting trip, I decided to head back to my cave in the side of a small cliff. Nothing much can be said about it – cave is a cave, but it gave me cover from the rain and wind when needed (though it was a pain in the ass to defend it from Grimm sometimes). As a plus, there was a river near by, half a mile to the right of the entrance actualy. This place was far from the ashes of Safit, from five to seven miles to North-East from there. But that's not important right now. What _is_ important is that through a series of questionable thoughts about what to do and strange decidions of blind faith, the sistem of beliefs of Native Americans People of Solitas came to my mind.

-Their naturalistic vision always seemed logical and beautiful to me. Unlike the church, this belief was built around the concept of self-finding and acceptane of the world around us along with being a part of the world as a whole and not as a separate being. With that in mind, a thought struck me after a four day long thinking spree.

-If this belief is probably nonexistant, what would happen if I will live by this belief? Will something happen to me if I do?

-To be honest, this was a wild gamble. There was a 90% chance that this would be a useless endeavour, though luckly 10% chance pulled through – which consisted of 5% chance of 'maybe' and 5% chance from a theory. If the Great Spirit is the power or the sacredness that resides in everything and resembles some animalistic and pantheistic belief, then (in theory) Great Spirit _should exist_ not only on Remanant but also across all time and space.

-While I couldn't (or wouldn't) live by all traditions that are set by the Soli..tians? I think I had enough breathing room, considering I am _probably_ the only one who knows about this vision in this day and age.

-Every belief starts _somehow_. And I decided to start with meditation – one problem though... It ain't easy.

-More like – climbing the highest mountain without experience and equipment hard.

-Right then and there, siting cross-leged in a cave, I understood how cheap that power from Kore- _Mistralian_ comic series was. There, you sit cross-leged, breathe a couple of times and BAM! Done, you know how to meditate.

-It took me eight months to do it correctly. Words of Allan Wats gave me an answer.

-Still worth it though. It helped me with containing emotions and thinking straight, and as you know critical thinking is a neat thing in a lot of blunders.

-And while I was geting upset by these eight monts, I followed basic traditions of hunting (prayers to nature and the game I caught) and experimented with local herbs a bit. I even considered a facepaint at one point, but if I remember correctly, it was used as a 'class' identification, so I left that idea behind.

-It was an interesting experience – living by their beliefs. It was one of my dreams actualy, to live by _their_ side for a month at least.

-But instead of having a legit cultural experience for a month, I made a knock-off culture that I still live by to this day, go figure. But because I'm a stubborn fool, I belived in my corse of action with fervour.

-It's good that my efforts were not in vain.

-From the age of twelve to fifteen, I followed this routine of praier, meditation and herb experementation without a shadow of doubt in my mind. And one night, as I was about to go to sleep on my makeshift bed of sticks and leafes, I felt something.

-You see, sleeping in the wilds is extremly dangerous because the local bane of existence didn't. So sleeping made you an easy target for Grimm to devour. If I was a human, I would be dead before the first year ended because I'm a heavy sleeper most of times. But who would have thought that a Faunus experementing with local fauna would stumble upon a way to protect his domain by sharpening twigs and coating them in various poisons and nasty-smelly things.

-Anyway. At that moment I was on guard, who knows which monster is hiding in the shadows. I stand there - Axe in hand, ready for battle while slightly winded from the day of fighting. I saw no movement, I heard no sound, but I felt a presence – and it was unnervingly soothing.

-Against all rational thought, I drop my battle stance to see what would happen.

-And then she showed up.

-The winds blew into the cave with such force that I had to shield my eyes and take a wider stance. For a minute winds continued their assult.

-Untill they sudenly stoped and I saw a dim white glow.

-I decided to look where the light was coming from and then shock siezed my movement. There floated an aged woman with grey hair the tip of which were black as night outside. Her face was full of wrinkles that gave her the look that radiated wisdom, and her eyes ,despite the visable age, were shining green orbs that brought me comfort. Her clothes were simple – basic linen rags and pants with a ornate poncho on her shoulders. Behind her ears were feathers of an eagle, if I assumend correctly.

-We looked at eachother for quite sometime, one look of shock for a look similar to a gaze of a loving grandmother. I was surprised beyond words because I haven't thought that this stupid idea would bear such a fruit, but it did, and I had to do something with it.

-I bended a knee while pressing my fist to the ground. "G-Great spirit" - I stutter in shock and excitement - "Why have you come to me?" With an open palm, she gestured for me to rise, and I did without a complain. Wakan Tanka pointed at _me_, which left me confused. "You have come here for me?" She shakes her head and point a litle more forcefuly at my abdomen. "For my soul...? Spirit?"

-She nonded her head once with a content smile that was on her face the whole time. I know naught why she couldn't talk, but I payed no mind then, and it was probably for the better.

-She lifted her palm again, but this time rock and dirt decided to glide in her hand as it formed a perfectly round brown sphere that answered to the Great Spirit's call, and held out her hand to me, as if asking me to take it. Tenatively, I grabed the ball from her grasp with one hand, trying to understand what to do with it. I look at her seeking an answer for a question unasked...

* * *

"Why am I writing this?" A good question indeed, who knows where and when the prying eyes will see my sensless ranting. I quickly tear out a page from my journal/diary. Customers of this cafe payed no mind to the suden noise of paper being ripped, which is good - no one would love to be looked at awkwardly by any group of people. Ironicaly, today's expedition in Vale is exactly for the oposite reason.

Atention gathering, to put it simply, and this cafe will help me with my task.

"Ol' Dusty's" cafe is famous for it's work shift from 10pm to 6am on Saturdays and Sundays, big arrays of delicacies from overseas and one of the most important things a performer can ever need.

A stage with a crowd of listeners.

While this stage was mostly used for comedic "stand up" performances, the owner sometimes allows entery to the talanted folk so it wouldn't boil down to some guy thinking he's hot shit spiting jokes while the collective mood crumbles to dust. Thankfuly the owner is a smart man so he has basic rules while on stage. The first is that you have a time limit of 10 minutes so everyone who wants to shine would have a turn. Second – pay 30 Lien to get on stage or you're out. This price isn't unfair per see, but considering that 1 Lien is close to... maybe 40 cents, it's actualy quite cheap. The third and the last rule – the crowd decides if you go off the stage or lets you stay. It's on of the best decisions "Dusty's" had made from the economical side of things. Giving some authorotive freedom to customers will encourage good behaviour from all parties involved and make people think that they belong here. People are animals of habit, so they will come back to the place where they love to spend time and to feel like they belong somewhere, and I'm no exception.

"Dusty's" cafe looks and feel like old Jazz cafes – dark, cosy, with a smell of smoke and good company beside you at the round table. The walls are covered by bricks, on which hang a variety of posters from all over Remnant. The celing is decorated with simple designed chandelier that radiate with faint yellow glow that only extends the shadows bellow, and dark wooden beams that make the place feel like a wine cellar. The tables were round and made of some dark wood, their size only allowed to house 2 people sitting on comfortable dark brown chairs with red velvet on them. These tables occupied the majority of the box-like room, except for a VIP area in the middle with a big round table for big familly dinners at day and negotiations beetwen saints and sinners at night. Below the posters were brown leather couches that could fit 4 people together behind the normal wooden table that reaces up to your knees.

I stumbled upon this place after leaving the home of Seaside's to go to The Club and get the job, but this place, 4 blocks down from a backery, caught my atention and I decided to walk in.

And now I'm a regular.

But I gotta say, this cafe has a tight-knit community consisting mostly of people of high standard and criminals that gather at night. It wasn't too unexpected to see people of both fields on neutral ground. business is a cruel industry, after all. Where one man thrives, the others plot his downfall. Regardless, I had to pass through "initiation" of sorts, to prove myself trustworthy. It was a piss poor initiation if say so myself, and I say so. First you go on stage to impress the audience somehow, then go through a conversation with a man posesing a lie detector semblance...

* * *

"_Do you know who I am?"_

"_Yes"_

"**BIP**"

"_Do you have problems with criminal underworld?"_

"_No. Actualy, I was considering working in it"_

"**...**"

"_How are you feeling?"_

"_You can say that I'm.. interested"_

"**...**"

"_What are you going to do after geting accepted here?"_

"_Sell everyone out, of corse_"

"**BIP**"

* * *

After whch register as a patron at Dusty's.

Thats it.

But the funny thing is, Jazz was considered the Devil's music back on my previous place of residence, and guess which part of society is considered to be in tune with Devil's trade? You guesed it – Politicians!

Bad jokes aside, I can't wait for my time on stage to come.

The band of demons will show that Devil is in the house tonight!

* * *

And now we see three people walking dow the street.

"Roman is such a pain in the ass. Not only he requested a meeting that he payed for at a _public place_, he chose to do it on my free time too"

In the center is Hei Xiong, otherwise known as Juinor – owner of The Club and a famous Information broker. Normaly he is more patient with his clients because he has to keep a tall and proud image so he could to lead a succesful information trading buisnes, but this new street rat on a high rise just _loves_ to annoy him in any way posible.

"Brothers, damn it, Junior! Stop whining like a little bitch and man up!" Melanie Malachite – one of two bouncers and bodyguards of Junior spoke up from his right.

"We've been listening to you ranting for, like, half an hour! Grow some balls for fuck's sake, or shut up!" She is known for her short fuzed temper and proficiency with bladed heels, those who tried thier luck with her can attest to that. She wears a beautifull white dress under a coat of the same colour with white fur at her collar. From the distance she looks like a blizzard ready to freeze you to the bone, but pray to whatever God you belive in that you wouldn't be in the fiery blast of her tantrum.

She is a complete oposite of her twin sister and second guard of Junior's

"What my sister _trying_ to say is that you worry too much about it, buisness is buisness and you know it better than we do" Miltiades (Miltia for short) Malachite is simillarly clothed as her sister, but insted of a white dress she wears a dark red one with black outlines. Her coat is the same dark red with black fur on it's collar.

Guess who's wallet suffered for designers work.

As a weapon she uses a pair of wicked looking claws tha work wonders in combination with her sister's heels, and their teamwork is feared by many a man.

Still, Junior sighed because he knew that in the end they were right. It's unprofesional to complain on a well paying job, and he does whine like a three year old now that they have mentioned it

"Yeah, yeah. But can you realy blame me though? He just _knows_ which buttons to press.. Especialy your's, Melanie" What a better way to keep an immage if not to fire shots at your bodyguard? Surely it will work out.

Not.

A grimace forms on red clad twin's face.

"Hey! At least I don't complain about it to everyone I know for an hour straight!"

"Many grunts would beg to differ"

Got 'em, Junior. Good employee treatment.

Thankfuly before things could get ugly(er), Militia buted in the conversation, like a desperately needed voice of reason, right as they turned a corner.

"We are here, so would you please try and behave like adults, or you want to keep arguing about it in front of everyone?" She glared at them both. Seriously, it like she's the mature one in this group. Good thing that her words actualy had an effect on them. Junior rubs the back of his neck with a tint of red on his cheeks while Melanie just humph's in acknowledge and glare at the nearest wall of "Ol' Dusty's". Junior seemed to recover some of his dignity and made his way towards the door.

"Sorry about that, let's go in – no need to just stand around" Twins just nod and follow him into the caffe, their previous bickering forgoten like a face of a passer-by. Caffe's familiar walls and faces greet them, and they do to. Polite nods to greet some patrions, light talks on the way to the VIP table along with lingering gazes of enemies and a look out for new blood – A familiar routine that everyone here is accustomed to. As the trio made thier way to the table, a midle aged man with gray hair and a frail form is seen standing near it in waiter's uniform. His name is Brandon Dustling and he is the owner of this establishment.

"Brandon, good to see you again. How's the business runing?" Junior politely greets him in a frendly maner. While Junior has a gret amount of influence in underground sphere, It would do him no favor in being arogant with a cafe owner loved by everyone.

Dusty actualy lightly laughs at his aproach. "I think my busines is ok ,Junior. Ok as it can be with guys like you coming around" It still fascinates him till this day, how beeing clueless and serving one well dresed customer after closing time would skyrocket his business. "Anyway, would you like to order something while you're at it?"

Junior turns his head to looks at the twins, their coats left on hangers. They shrug ther shoulders and take a seats at the table, perfectly in sync. "Choose whatever you want-" Begun Miltia "-We're not that hungry" Finished Melanie.

"Then I'll take today's special" Junior sat down between the twins. Ever lovely chairs provide comfort to ther sore muscles after six days of work at The Club.

"Alright, Vacuo's Vagabond coming right up. Anything else?"

"No, a cup of water wouldn't hurt though"

"Well, if that is all, then I'll be on my way. Have a plesant time." With his part said, Brandon makes his way to the kitchen doors, all the while dancing between tables with practiced ease. That leaves our criminal trio to sit in silence, not for long however. Something attracts Miltia's atention to the table on the far left. There sat a man in a black hoodie and dark blue jeans. Though his hood was up, she could see a strong jaw and blue eyes of deep sea staring back in a darkly lit cafe. He sat relaxed on his chair – practicaly melting into it with hands folded on his lap and one leg over the other. The only thing he did was to smile and look at her. This guy intriged her. Normaly guys would look at her and her sister with lust, but this stranger haven't broken eye contact with her for thirty seconds. If she was a lower woman, Miltia would have been ofended by the lack of reaction.

"Hey, Meanie" she wisper her sister.

"Yes?"

"Check out that guy behind you" Junior groans half-heartedly.

"Girls, I know you didn't want to come here, but can you try to keep your libido under control? We are still on a business venture" His plea went ignored as both twins now look at the darkly garbed stranger staring back. Junior looks at him to, not everyday someone catches attention of both twins so it's gotta be worthwhile. While his figure is somewhat imposing, he seems like average man, he may be a fighter but looks are deceiving. He waved lazily at them.

"He looks like a civilian. What did you find in him anyway?" Melanie seems to share Juniors view of the guy.

"Well... I don't know, he's kinda just.. _there,_ like a shadow out of place on a painting.. I guess it's nothing"

Someone smells blood in the water

"By the Brothers, Miltia!" Dramaticaly whisper-yeled Melanie "Is it love at first sight?! I'm so proud for my sister!"

Red clad twin just rolled her eyes at Melanie's _humourus_ jab, which cranks Junior just a little.

"As if. I'm not that desperate to fall in someone's arms just like that, I kinda expected that from you" And so, a game of verbal tenis begun with a frendly back and forth between two sisters and Junior as a referie. This went on for at least 5 minutes without much heat on both sides, untill Brandon returned Junior's food and a cup of water.

"Vacuo's Vagabond and a cup of water, just as ordered" Brandon said with his usual cheer as he put the plate with a _cooked lizard _on it which is decorated with greenery and special Vacuoan spice that looks like sand and leave a slight burning sensation after eating. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, who the new guy over there? Twins are very hot and bothered by him" Junior asked, (un)succesfuly trying to hide his grin. For that he recived a slap on each shoulder and a "Hey!" from them both."Who? He?" Dusty point in stranger's direction. Criminal trio just nods.

"Ah, that guy. He's a good man, I'll tell you that much. Though he's a bit.. unhinged. His name is..." And before Brandon could tell them stranger's name, he looks at him and Dusty's eyes widen.

But shortly after, his surprised expression shows a wide grin.

"... You know, I think he'll introduce himself to you in a moment" Brandon quickly left them to wonder what he meant when he said that.

While Brandon made his way to the backstage, the strange man was hot on his heels. Those who looked saw a symbol on the hoodie's back – Bear's Head. When they made it to the stage 'hoodie' stood in front of the microphone as Dusty called someone over from backstage. Brandon lef the stage shortly after.

The stage, unlike the rest of the establishment, had good lighting, so all eyes were focused on the stage already. Some where intrigued by what will New Blood do this time around, others didn't care much as long as his performance was acceptable, while third group was annoyed because their conversations will be interrupted shortly. By the smile that hung on 'hoodies' face, it was clear that he did not care for the plight of others.

He began somewhat formaly as four waiters, three of with caried a Trombone, Trumpet and a Clarenet, made their way on stage. The forth one sat down behind the Drums.

"Greeting, Saints and Sinners of this fine establishment. Tonight, we will be entertaining you with a little performance of ours" He said this all with a Devilish smile. "But let's wait no longer! I presents to you... Devilman!"

Lights on stage change their colors to Blood Red while other sources of light dimed even further, leaving "Dusty's" in partial darkness.

And then the music started

"Lets give them Hell, Boys!"

The beat of the Drum opened the composition after which the trio began to blow into their instruments. Stranger taps his foot to the rythm when he begins to sing to crowds surprise.

_"Who's that man?"_

_Who is he?"_

_Who is he?"_

_Who is he?"_

_He is called the devil. The devil man. He's Devilman."_

His voice is the most surprising aspect of his. When he talked to the crowd, his voice was deep and smooth, while this one is like silk – rich and melodious.

He continued.

_Some say he's a traitor"_

_They say he's cold as ice"_

_He's the man who sacrificed everything to fight"_

_Devil arrow at the speed of light"_

_Devil ears guide him in the night"_

_Devil wings he's the lord of the skies"_

_Devil beam, a ray of fire"_

_With evil powers close at hand"_

_The devil's in command"_

_He's a hero, so just and fair"_

_He's Devilman"_

_He's Devilman"_

While the lyrics confuse some of the patrons, they can't bring themselfs to care about it, because everyone likes how this performance is going.

_One day he was touched by the kindness of a man"_

_Hearing of human's love He began to understand"_

_Devil chop the power of his fist"_

_Devil eyes see clear in the mist"_

_Devil kick breaking every bone"_

_Devil cutter crushing stones"_

_With evil powers close at hand"_

_The devil's in command"_

_He's a hero, so just and fair"_

_He's Devilman"_

_He's Devilman"_

Not only he sings, but acts as well. On every Devil atribute he made something up to entertain the crowd of people that find this song ironic. But when the instrumental solo took hold he began to dance a little like he's mocking somebody with strange hand movements and smooth footwork. Coming out of the spin he continued.

_When evil power's close at hand"  
_

_The devil's in command"  
_

_He's a hero, so just and fair"_

_He's Devilman"_

_He's Devilman"_

With his voice slowly fading and instruments carying on, the crowd begins to clap. Few criminals even whistled in apreciacion. With a senciere smile, singer bowed deeply, yet still somewhat mockingly. His natural voice rang through the mic when the lights turned back to normal.

"Thank you, thank you! You are the best audience I ever had!" His smile showed teeth "But I think that is a given when you are the first crowd that heard me"

Some chuckle at his poor atempt at humour, but for him, as long as some action produces reaction it's a job well done.

"Now, before we continue with a song, I want to answer some question, if you have any. Questions can be of any kind... but some answers are of limit. Go on! Ask me how the world works or something, I am more then eager to a discusion.." At this point many spectators laid back, watching the show that is about to unfold. This spectacle distracted everyone so well, that no one noticed a person walking in, his cane cracking on the floor all the while. This New Figure walked with a silent grace of a cat, yet It's personality is only a match to coyote. Now standing behind Junior, Smoth Criminal made his presence known by snatching his plate left untouched and siting oposite of unexpecting victum of his charade. When Junior gathered his wits about him, he grumbled when he saw his 'mugger' infront of him.

"You"

"Me" Roman Torchwick greet the Info trader.

And the night has just begun.

* * *

**A/N: ****I may or may not have made to many references to music and FanFics of other authors. If you don't like it, then I'm sorry – I'd much rather for the process to be natural and spontanious, if I'll run back this will become not the work of passion that I want it to be, but a mechanical husk of it's self.**

**Important****: There will be no pairing, despite me suggesting so, You are warned.**

**I think that's it for today with my Note. I hope you liked my work, and if you did/not, then **_**please**_** review this story. Without support and criticizm there won't be much to improve this story from. I swear that I will consider your suggestions ****if you explain why you want it that way**** but not everything will make the cut – only things that are reasonable.**

**Once again, Thank you for sticking around with me on this ride. I hope you will have a great day!**

**Sincerely – Kirston.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Well, who would have thought that I would fix the problem this late? Certainly not me, but sorry for the wait anyway. Still, you are probably going to see a lot of me struggling with this chapter because after the last update I was thinking of so many various other little scenes , that I forgot to think through this chapter. Hopefully it will be ok to read without much pain.**

**If someone is going to wonder: "**_**What in the fuck is happening to everyone's characters and why MC is so strange"**_**, Then I'm gonna tell you that I am trying to show everyone in a more 'humane' light. MC's character hopefully will be better highlighted in the next chapter. If you are of inpatient folk, then just ask me a question and I will answer. **

**Mandatory disclaimer: the only thing I own is my OC. RWBY, music, ideas, phrases and so on belong to their respective owners, so don't throw rocks at me for being an impressionable bugger. Hope you enjoy!**

**Btw – I'm probably going to re-do my first and second chapter because, frankly, they're shit and they are probably going to scare off some people. First one will remain more or less the same, only more lengthily, while the second one is going to be smoothed out.**

**To be safe – Disclaimer: swearing**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"So, why did you decide to call a meeting with me? And here of all places" Junior began with his business façade up and ready. Whether or not he is annoyed by his client's sudden call, in criminal underworld duty comes first – you tend to live longer that way, and personal issues last.

"Come on, Junior, don't tell me that old friends can't spend some quality time together. Especially after tiring hours of work and labor" Roman Torchwick – self proclaimed Criminal Mastermind and a man of wealth and taste, boisterously said while stuffing his belly with a dish brought to Junior. "Vacuo's Vagabond's" spicy taste of rough meat reminded him of his time in Vacuo itself. Vacuo is strange place compared to the other parts of the world because of its local rule of arrival.

If you tough enough to survive, then you are welcomed here.

While it's true, it is a great dramatization of living conditions of sandy dunes. There is a lot of banditry, strange and dangerous Grimm that are accompanied by harsh climate and regular sandstorms, but along with danger comes strangeness of highest order and, for all that is worth, scenarios like this one can take place:

"_Hey, you! Yes, You! Do you see that Sand Worm Grimm over there?"_

"_The one that could probably pounce over our walls?"_

"_Yes, that one! I give 50 that you can't beat it"_

"_Make it 75, then I'm game"_

"**DEAL**"

In other words, Vacuo can be described by simple formula which can't be understood by native people of Remnant.

Vacuo = (Africa + Florida) : 10 + Grimm

Though it is an over exaggeration.

Anyway, back to the "underground" side of things.

Junior barely suppressed his brow from twitching. Not even five minutes in and he's already trying to get under Junior's skin.

"I don't think that being acquainted for eight months make us old friends, Torchwick. And if I could spend my time right now – I wouldn't be here" Not that Junior wanted to be friends with him. From these short eight months, Torchwick managed to make quite a name for him-self. His streak of well rehearsed robberies began with some jewelry shops of big brands and big prices. For 2 months he was an itch that police couldn't scratch so easily. Council, being a place full of morons, just waved of this issue and ordered Beacon to dispatch a Huntsman for 3 months in hopes of this half-assed solution working.

Evidently, it didn't work.

"And here I was hoping after a good show at a nice place, _that isn't your office_, you would loosen up a little" In those 3 months that the Huntsman was called in assistance of police forces, Torchwick upped his game from jewelry to Banks and occasional Dust warehouses. At first, Council's decision was ineffective because of change in criminal business plan, police couldn't keep up and a Huntsman did too. Roman was too illusive at a time, but as his heists began to be more risky and flamboyant, police started to catch up.

That doesn't mean that everything would be fine though.

After three scuffles between Torchwick and a Huntsman, it became apparent that Torchwick was not just a petty thief but a seasoned fighter as well. Rumor has it that Torchwick fought somewhat honorably in the first battle and won, fought dirtily in a second one and won too, third time however he ran from the fight because the Huntsman was a joke. Overall – Council's reputation was hit along with Beacon's; Torchwick and his small gang grew in size and influence and he made profit without losing much, even managed to take his own stylish mug shot – a badge of honor amongst criminals.

But the punch-line lays in a way how he sold the stolen goods.

The last three months were occupied by selling small portions of the big haul to the unsuspecting Council members themselves without knowing who the seller was.

When _that_ news came up, many Council members were taken of their posts while criminal underground was crying from laughter. Many knew that day that the kid had balls size of the Goliath but everyone acknowledged that he is a dangerous individual – no two ways about it.

"Anyway, Junior, I came here for business. Call it a joint venture, if you will" While Junior loathed his smug demeanor, he was quite interested in the offer given. Knowing Roman, this promised great payback if it worked and great infamy if it didn't.

"Huh, not every day I get this kind of offers, especially from you, but I need to know what brought this up. You wouldn't ask for help if the job was easy and the last time I lent you my boys I had to get them out of prison… again" some desperation leaks into his last words. It seriously was an enormous strike to his nerves, especially since he was going to hire some new blood which does not know how delicate things truly are. Many newcomers see the underground as dramatic affair that promises a lot of income if you have the muscle.

Because of that, you don't see too many people with good heads on their shoulders. A sad truth, but at least you have a lot of workforce ready to go and do your dirty work at any time.

Torchwick rolls his eyes playfully while his posture reeks confidence and smugness. He reaches for a cigar in his inner pocket and light's it up shortly after while doing his best to grind on Junior's nerves.

"Junior, you know perfectly well that it's not my fault that you hire each and every waste of space that come through your doors, seeking easy lives_. _Seriously, not only they waste space by existing, they like to waste time while on work and waste _your _money because of salary. I'm seriously wondering how you stay afloat like this"

With each word, Junior grew slightly angrier. He knew that Torchwick was trying to do, he knew that it would be a losing battle he'd lead if he rose to the challenging insult, but his pride was hit and he had to defend it somehow. Calmly, he responds

"And _you_ know perfectly well that my boys aren't cut for your type of criminal activity. Most of them are loan sharks and hired muscle anyway, but you still come back to hire them so you could get away scot-free while my boys get framed for every robbery gone wrong. Besides, you know how I gain profit from all the mess happening around the city, so why do you ask?"

Roman stared blankly at him: no gleam in the eye, lips set in a straight line and a cigar resting in a palm of a thief like a forgotten trinket. In a rare show of courtesy, he spins the cigar in his hand and hands it over to Junior.

"Busy week, huh?" He says in a tone that lacks its usual cheer. Junior could only nod dumbly in surprise of the situation before him. Who would have thought that Roman would drop his act? Only after taking a drag and giving the cigar back to its owner he responds with an amused huff.

"Guess whose fault is that, but I think it doesn't matter now, does it? Especially when we both agreed to this meeting" Both of them chuckle softly at that. Junior sometimes forgets how easily you can lose yourself in the sea of lies and fake personalities that is the underground. Everyone's façade holds truth about a person to some extent. Take Roman for example. On surface he seems like an egomaniac asshole that tries to flaunt what he has for all to see, but is it all that can be said about this mask of his?

No. Not at all.

But the main point of every character is the mask that they wear.

Everyone in Criminal Underworld knows Torchwick as a successfully rising criminal. To public, he is known as a menace. To authorities, he is known for the grease that he puts on his cuffs. To acquaintances, he is a pain in the ass.

But who is the actor when he goes off the stage? Who is Torchwick when he stops his charade of 'evil deeds'? The answer is simple. He is a person. Just like everyone else, he is a creature of flesh and bone with his thoughts and wants.

_Just like everyone else, huh?_

Junior sighs, finally able to relax his stiff shoulders, while wondering when he became so thoughtful, with an acquaintance no less. Few moments pass and a comfortable atmosphere of silence is shattered by a throat being cleared by Torchwick.

"Alright, let's get to back to business. That's why I called you here after all"

Junior smiles briefly before making a face of stone.

There is work to be done and lives to be ruined if his guess about this work is true.

* * *

"I can't believe that they haven't even noticed us leaving, or at least haven't stopped us from leaving. Why the hell did he call us here if he isn't even worried about his safety?" Melanie and Miltia were sitting behind Torchwick's back, considerable distance away, facing the stage. While Junior already forgot about the performance and a singer, but undeniably the stranger was caught in sight of twin sisters. For some reason his whole image felt strange yet solid. Like you see a new object that you didn't know existed but it is a common item that can be found anywhere. This analogy barely makes sense and they know that, but it's the best one they can come up with. His cheerful appearance on stage feels wrong while being just right enough to fool almost everyone in the café. His image, at first glance, is like an oxymoron: like liquid gas, dramatic comedy or in this situation truthful lie. And if his behavior prior with Dusty's brief description of him tells them something, is that he doesn't care about the status quo or he's just strange. But simple first glance observation is not enough to gain a good understanding of his character.

That is one of the reasons why they were trying to gain stranger's attention, but he was still chatting and answering questions from the patrons of shady backgrounds. More strange yet, is that he feels comfortable in this sort of environment. Not many could brag that they can talk to people of high class without fear or bias. All of this gives a controversial opinion about him. Melanie thought that he is just plain strange but talented, while Miltia decided to not rush to conclusions just yet. Either way, his time on stage will be coming to an end soon, so it would be best to ask some questions on their minds. But they are not the only ones who are curious by a surprise performance.

Male voice rang from the back, loud and clear "Yo! You made a nice song and all, but why did you perform _here_ of all places? Dont'cha know that this place is for more… shady business? " And indeed it was. But the tonight's star only smiled knowingly as he took the microphone from the stand and started pacing on an empty stage. His helpers are long gone behind the stage.

"I know precisely where I am, and that is why I chose to perform tonight." He said that with certainty of fighter and a face of a jester "Isn't it logical that if all people of high class present here will like my singing, then general populace will like it as well. But that's not the main reason why I'm here. There are two of them actually." Audience patiently waits for the answer that is to come.

"The first reason is that I love my voice a little too much and I wanted to stroke my ego a little." Amusement swept through the café in various forms. Some snorted while some laughed at this joke of a reason. And why wouldn't they? Not every day you see someone so honest and confident in their wit. Some would say that this arrogance will get him killed eventually, but there were some cases that told the other story.

To Torchwick's indifference, some wandering eyes were landed on him in comparison.

"But seriously, thought, I came here to create something worthwhile." At this point, many became indifferent to his words since their source of entertainment lost his jester's mask and decided to talk about his _interests_ of all things, yet some decided to listen – twins included.

"And possibly to find an employer" Internally he hoped to see more eyes laid on him after that statement, no matter how lame it was, but the stranger knew that one of his goals for tonight was achieved. Malachite sisters took notice of his self-advertisement. By no means were they responsible for the recruitment of new people looking for work in The Club. If they were, then the current amount of work-force under Junior's thumb would be none-excitant because of their picky nature. Still, their word holds weight when getting employed and the stranger knew that, so why not use the opportunity at hand?

Making his way to Brandon standing before the stage, the Stranger gives him a tip of 100 Lien and shakes hand. Twins couldn't hear it, but some words of gratitude were passed between them. One is grateful for the opportunity and men that played instruments while the other one is grateful for making things livelier tonight, even if a little.

After that, Stranger took steps to his table where his journal laid untouched. He schemed in his head of his next step of his plan of employment while hoping that he made enough of an impression to be stopped by the Twins. The moment of truth came closer as he approached the table which he was going to pass. Two pairs of emerald eyes followed his hooded form as he made his approach not glancing at them once. Each step brought him closer to their table and when he was about to pass them-

Nothing happened as he continued to walk to his destination.

"_Expectations and reality are never to align, it seems. Thankfully I was ready for this outcome, either way."_ Michael sat down in his previous position as he opened his journal without any outward reaction signaling of disappointment. He really was ready for this outcome. After all, can you really be disappointed if you expected defeat before the battle was even started. He found humor in the thought. _"How can you disappointment?" _No bitterness crossed his mind, but the silence remained. This silence didn't last long, however, as his mind began to wander. After some time, he steered his thoughts to the Great Spirit and his luck encountering it. Never had he ever thought that he would see a figure of transcendence in the flesh... _maybe_ flesh, because he thought that a simple belief was not enough to gain its attention. _"What could have made mu situation so different from the normal belief of Native Americans?"_ After a good minute or two of mulling on said question, he decided to draw a comparison between various systems of faith.

And then the realization kicked in.

"_If there can no deity without followers, then that means that when people start to believe in some deity, they created deities themselves!" _in his clarity of mind, he never noticed a red and white pair moving toward his table

"_Wait. Doesn't that mean that I am a religious person and my previously written words are hypocrisy..? Meh, my point still stands regardless of my belief allegiance. It can't be considered religion anyway because…"_ But before he could find the difference between two things alike, someone clearing his throat announced his presence near him. Lifting his eyes that blankly stared into his journal; he was caught off-guard with the sight before him.

Melanie and Miltia Malachite were making themselves comfortable behind his table.

"_Just as I feared. The show did them no justice in person... If I even remember how they looked. But then again, why everyone looks like a supermodel anyway?"_ He closed his journal/diary and put it away in a pocket of his jeans.

"_Thank God for enormously sized pockets."_

"Oh my, I wasn't expecting company, but in any case it is welcomed. May I know your names?" The greeting was, perhaps, a little_ too_ polite in his opinion and the Twins apparently shared it by looking at each other – a silent conversation between them. While not much, Michael managed to understand some parts of it by looking at subtle twitches of brows and narrowing of eyes. In essence, it boiled down to _'you go first' _and _'why me?'_, or something like that. Though Michael didn't have to wait long for them to answer.

The red clad twin went first "I'm Miltia Malachite, pleased to meet you." Michael was taken aback by her formality, though he regained his bearing rather quickly.

"The pleasure is mine" He glances at the second twin who takes it as her queue for introduction.

"And I'm Melanie. Also Malachite. Good to meet you" Surprisingly, she gave her hand for a shake. When Michael took her hand in his, he noted that her grip is light.

You don't want to trust people with weak handshakes.

"_Are these handshaking signs related to woman too? I don't remember, but better safe than sorry."_

"Likewise, pleased to meet you" Melanie quirked one fine brow at the greeting while retracting her hand.

"Why do you speak like an old man?"

"…"

An awkward silence took hold for a moment until it was broken by a low rumbling chuckle.

"What a way to shake my confidence. I wish more people introduced themselves like that." He leaned back a little with his hands on table.

Twins relaxed their shoulders after that tense moment of unfiltered speech. Usually such a strike to someone's self image they would flip out, and it didn't help out if the offended was a character of shady background.

That's why Melanie is never the one to be chosen to resolve a conflict peacefully.

And that's why it's also surprising to see someone in this circle of people who can laugh at them self.

Miltia decided to prod about that a little, "Really? I wouldn't call someone insulting you at first sight pleasant." Though the line was delivered somewhat dryly, it managed to make him smile an easy smile, ready to deliver the punchline.

"You are right, and considering my circumstances-"He brought his hand up, finally letting down his hood, which revealed his smooth yet strong features and-

And a pair of very dark-brown Faunus ears that are almost as black as his hair.

"-I know just how true this statement is to the rest of my species."

He looked for a reaction from them: widening of eyes, lowered jaws, twitch of a brow and fingers, widening of nostrils - signals that could signal disgust or surprise.

_Nothing_. There was no outward reaction from them. He liked that.

"_Finally, people who don't care"_

And from that point onward he knew that if he would do business, then he would do it with Junior.

But even with no visible reaction, a response was a given.

"Oh wow, never thought that you'd be a Faunus," "That hood didn't help either."

Michael, being a traveled person in more ways than one, never saw a pair of twins and was pleasantly surprised to finally see that rumors about twin siblings having a shared 'mental link' are true. Some would ask 'why', he'd answer 'curiosity'.

"That's why I always wear it. I found that Life is much easier when you don't try to stand out"

"Then why did you go on the stage if that would make your life harder?"

The next line was said in an even tone, joyful gleam in his eye betraying his stony visage.

"Because if Life was easy, then there would be no point in living a single day." To him, the irony was not lost, and it only made this Hippocratic statement funnier.

Unexpectedly, their dialog was, oh _so_ _rudely _interrupted but a whining sound of a Bullhead being piloted and a megaphone being used.

"_Attention, criminals! You are being put under arrest! We have you surrounded, outmanned and outgunned! Give up and walk out of the building with your hands raised and no-one will be hurt!"_

Unease quickly began to spread amidst the patrons. Police somehow managed to circle a building on the corner of the block _in complete silence, _but that wasn't the main concern_._ Usually VPD was nothing but a nuisance and was generally a greedy bunch easily manipulated by big sums of money. That leads everyone to a conclusion that VPD would do nothing so extravagant as to raid, what essentially is, their wallets. That made no sense what so ever and it presented a big question for everyone involved.

Who sold them out?

To make police be as active as right now, someone had to sell them out. Not only that, but this information had to be carried to The _New_ Council and probably Beacon as well, because otherwise not a single cop would lift a finger if such information was given to him. And if they did, they usually informed their source of income of incoming raid so they could mitigate the damage done.

Even "Dusty's" had some sort of 'alarm system' like this. With the help of various sources given to him by his patrons, Brandon ran throughout background checks on everyone who took even a step into his pride and joy at night, weekly surveillance of his every worker, someone even given him a retired Huntsman with a lie detector semblance.

But it seems like it was all for naught.

With a heavy sigh, Michael turned to the twins.

"It seems that we have to cut this meeting short. And I was enjoying myself too."

In spite of thing, twins giggled at his dry sense of humor, something told them that they are going to hear more of it soon enough.

"Don't worry about it, big guy. I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other very soon." Melanie, ever so assured in her strength, didn't seem to care at all about the gravity of the situation. She looked cheerful, even. Unlike her sister which was as calm as ever.

"Still, I think this is where we say our goodbyes, otherwise Junior is going bitch at us even more for leaving him alone."

"Have a nice evening then. I'll swing by the Club and say hi when I'll have the time"

"Wait. How do you know where we work?"

I just shrug at her.

"Who doesn't?"

This statement satisfied them both and, Like so, everyone stood up and took their separate ways from there on out. Michael contemplated about this turn of event as he leaned on the wall right next to the door, arms crossed and hood up to shield his identity in case of visual contact.

This situation was dire, it was obvious. Even from here he already could hear the great quantity of people talking in hushed whispers, most likely civilians, and a hum of a second Bullhead that just arrived.

_Probably VNN and their famous reporter Lisa Lavender decided make a new headline. "Major hit to the criminal underworld! Police and Huntsmen made our lives safer!" _

_Heh, what a joke._

There are only two obvious ways to take in this situation. First option is to fight our way through – which is a bad idea. No-one would appreciate shit hitting the fan like that: too complicated to pull off and too risky for every person in a one block radius.

The second option is more reasonable – create as much havoc and run away. While still not a very good plan, it still promised success to those who are lucky or have the ability to tuck their tail between their legs.

Michael sees Brandon hyperventilating in the corner while everyone runs about, paying him no mind. Poor guy – his work of passion crumbles to dust and he can do nothing about it.

"_I hope he won't drop his soap while behind the bars"_

Not much time was remaining before VPD decides to break down the door and almost everyone is in turmoil right now. The only ones that are calm are Junior, twins and Roman, who just stopped texting on his scroll. Most likely to Neo – Roman's 'Get out of jail free' card and partner in crime. His calmness makes sense, but I wonder what king of plan Junior cooked up for his grand escape.

Who am I kidding? They'll be alright, gotta save my own hide in a meantime.

From the yells I gathered that the place was indeed surrounded because the backdoor that leads into another building is blocked and the roof is covered by two Bullheads of VNN and VPD respectively.

I wouldn't be surprised if there were at least five Huntsmen dispatched for this operation. Too big of a chance missed for these idealistic bastards and their leader.

Sadly, my time to think was coming to an abrupt end as I heard a great number of footsteps approaching the door.

With idea in mind, my legs carried me to the back, where the staff usually spent their time. I knew not the layout of this building but I needed a place with a wall facing the street.

No-one here probably had a chance of fighting this assault, me included.

Fleeing is logical.

It is so logical, in fact, that I missed the sound of approaching footsteps from behind.

"Leaving the party so soon? And here we thought you were a reckless type"

"Thankfully you are one of the smart ones, because it would be a shame if someone who can talk to us normally would be locked behind the bars"

I immediately knew who it was, so I didn't even bother to turn around.

"If you wanted an easy way to escape, you could just ask me instead of trying to flatten me into submission" Rough and manly chuckle rumbled somewhere behind.

"Knew it wouldn't work" - Junior.

By the sound of someone hitting someone I think that Junior got hit for his long tongue, though he seemed unfazed.

"Still, looks like you have a plan, kid. I hope you don't mind if we tag along for now" Implication of leaving him shortly to fend for himself wasn't unnoticed.

"Don't worry about it, old man. I'm sure that we'll do just fine." The sound of the front door being kicked open and shots of guns made the group of three worry just a little. But they reached their destination with no complication.

That destination being Brandon's office. Nothing much can be said about it, grey walls, a simple desk with a computer and lots of paperwork on it, normal ass chair, a plant in a corner and a thick steel safe right under the table.

Let's us not get distracted now, ey?

Ignoring the questions sent my way I step up to the wall behind the desk and, to bafflement of others, punch it.

A moment passes as Junior tries to question why the hell did I just punched a wall. Good thing that my words were not silenced like it usually happens while I'm talking in a group.

"We're in luck, there's almost no resistance on the other side" Unsurprisingly, they are _a bit_ skeptical

"Oh, yeah? And how do you know that?" "From our point of view, you just punched a _wall_ for no fucking reason and said that it's relatively safe on the other side with no windows." While my mental stability was questioned, Junior grumbled about the poor planning of this building. "_Seriously who build a cafe with no windows?"_

A least The Club had more thought put into it than this.

Meanwhile I just shrug at, oh, so hurtful words of Malachites and decided to give them the most truthful statement of the night.

"Semblance" A single word should not give as much information as it does in my opinion, considering it justifies me punching a wall like an idiot. "Or how I like to call it – Gift of Spirits"

Before they can question me further, I decide to take action. Not much time is left for us to escape and it is obvious by the depleting sound of gunshots.

In the end, they decided to let me do my work undisturbed.

Good thing that I don't need to concentrate much.

Channeling Aura into my right hand, I open my palm and slowly glide it down, as if pushing something. The result? Sound of concrete gridding on concrete as a rectangular hole appears in a wall while its previous part slowly sinks deeper and deeper into the earth.

As soon as the concrete slab completely sunk into the soil, I bolted out of the building not bothering to look back. As I run, I spot an alleyway – my path to safety. Thanks to my (somewhat) dark attire, my escape went unnoticed and when I thought I was out of the water…

"Hey! Those three are escaping! GET THEM!"

It appears that police is not as blind as I thought.

But they are not _my_ problem, are they?

Picking up the pace, with many evasive maneuvers and Aura infused jumps, I made it to the next block completely without a tail following me.

As I walk on the street with my hands in pockets of my hoodie jacket, I marvel at the stars above and a novel feeling of being alive.

It's even more novel when the police car rushes down the road beside you, paying you no mind.

My musings were right.

This _is_ Hell.

A place for sinners of all kinds.

* * *

"…_To other news. Today at midnight Café by the name of "Dusty's" was raided by joined forces of the police and Huntsmen for assisting criminals with their criminal activities .In the raid many faces, famous and infamous, were captured, like the owner of said establishment – Brandon Dustling, Supplier of Joint Armies of Sanus and Solitas – William Hedgerow, Leader of criminal group by the name of "Dogs of War" – Shade Fury and many more. That was truly a great event that transpired tonight, and thanks to that, citizen of Vale can sleep more tightly, knowing that there is less evil lurking in the streets."_

"_Today's news report was brought to you by Lisa Lavender. Thank you for your attention and a nice day"_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Well… it took some time, didn't it? Greetings to those masochistic few who actually care about this story, a new chapter is finally posted. You are probably wondering where I was or what took me so long. The answer to that question is not so simple… or I like to think like it is.**

**You see, when I started to write this story, the quality of this work was abysmal at best and I couldn't let it plague me for the rest of this story, so I took it upon myself to rewrite chapter 1 and 2 with some minor/major improvements to the third one.**

**I decided not to touch chapters 4, 5, and 6 so they would be testaments to my growth and failures.**

**Believe it or not, completely rewriting a chapter with it being similar to the original is quite a daunting task. It is much simpler to correct some things here and there. Yet I completed that task in the first month only while I just sat on my ass straight until today.**

**Still, 'tis no excuse for me taking so long and the truth about my tardiness is lack of motivation and imagination while writing (a feeling that most of writer understand in the time of 'quarantine') Time was never a large concern, yet here we are – five plus months without a proper update.**

**As you can see, I intend to fix that.**

**RWBY - RT, OC - Me, swearing (probably/****most likely****/**_**OH YEAH!**_**)**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 7**

**(Fucking finally)**

You know, I expected a lot of things to happen when I woke up this morning.

I mean, sure. That bust at the café was not even… five hours in the past, but usually these kinds of news spread quickly and reaction from authorities comes even quicker, but three and a half hours of healthy sleep was unexpected when you think about it.

Why it is so unexpected, you might ask. The answer to that lies in, frankly, stupid idea to trust an owner of "criminal" café with recordings of personal information for the "security of customers". As was mentioned, Dusty had his own neutral "turf" which included his cafe and all buildings in a one block radius, so it was up to him to settle things down if things got too rowdy. With help from upstanding individuals, he made some sort of system with which he could keep track of his "turf" and people in it. With this system I am not familiar, and if I was, then this system would be not only dumb but useless as well.

To my subconscious that is wondering. I keep saying "turf" because it's not actually his territory, but might as well be considered as such.

…

Why do I even bother to explain things for myself? Is this a running gag that's gonna repeat itself?

…

Fucking hell.

Anyway, what I _do_ know about this system is that Dusty has your personal information, _with_ your consent or without it. That includes me as well and that is why I am a little concerned right now.

Thankfully I was a relatively new crook to the local authorities and gangs alike, so I doubt that there is a big file about me, but it should be there nonetheless. I can only guess why am I undisturbed right now and I believe I have some good guesses. First – I was overlooked as a small fry that can be dealt with later. Second – there is no place of my residence mentioned. Third – an influence of an outsider. All of these guesses are viable in their own way, but pondering on them would be a waste of time and effort.

I'll play with the hand dealt to me, whether I like it or not.

Still, I won't be taking my eyes from the door of my hotel room anytime soon. Call it paranoia, I call it assurance.

Finally standing up from my bed, I turn on the news and make my usual round of exercising and hygiene (to which I just _can't_ get used to). Squats, push-ups and a plank are done to get the blood flowing while the news is flaring in the background.

Picking up the remote and turning up the volume, I start suiting up from my slumber while thinking if I should run for the hills already, before someone decides to knock on my door and then try to knock me down a peg.

"_-this Friday and Saturday are going to be rather sunny and temperature will rise up to 25 degrees Celsius, while on Sunday a very big downpour is expected along with fast southern winds which will disturb aerial transportation a little-"_

I _still _wonder how they can tell what weather on the weekend is gonna be without satellites and it's bugging me. I remember reading about RWBY and how people "hated it because they loved it", and with each written article about it King Crimson's "It just works" philosophy shined through more and more. I am almost glad that I haven't watched a single episode of it just to further my bafflement from the news.

Sad thing is – These weather forecasts are even more accurate than in my previous run and for some reason it doesn't bode well with me. Still… I have nothing to complain about. It just works and that's it.

"_That was the forecast for this week. Now to you, Violeta._"

"_Thank you, Jarrod. Now, with the news of the week! Yesterday night, approximately at midnight, Vale's Police Department raided the café by the name of "Dusty's._'"

Now that's an interesting piece of news.

"_What is interesting about this café is that its owner – Brandon Dustling-"_

His disheveled picture came up on the bottom left part of the screen with a plaque in hand and eyes downcast, still in his working uniform. After him came several more photos of other captured criminals in quick succession. Some in suits, some in casual clothing, yet what was aesthetically interesting to me was that even though the majority of them had similarly colored three-piece suits, they still were distinguishable from each other by the color of their features, be it color of hair or skin.

Taste the rainbow, motherfucker.

"_-Was using his café as a gathering ground for criminal ringleaders and economical giants of Vale. Due to some fortunate circumstance we managed to record some footage from the surprise police raid that caught our tormentors unaware._"

'Tormentors', aye? Well, can't say they're wrong, but there's too much drama in that statement, I know that much. Besides, even if Vale is behind its 'secure' walls, luring Grimm in by bad news is not a smart idea.

…

Ah, forgot that putting criminals behind bars is a good thing. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen a single prison in Vale's borders. Are they transporting convicts o_utside_ the walls? Not a bad idea actually.

…That is, until the time for organized jailbreak comes knocking.

Speaking of knocking, someone's been wailing at my door for about a minute now and it's starting to get annoying. I mean, really? It's like… 6:30 in the morning, can't it wait?

"_More than 30 people were caught in the police raid that was made by the new Chief of Police - Christian Rouge, in collaboration with Beacon Academy's Huntsmen. Majority of suspects were hired guards of 2 heads of criminal underworld and 3 corrupted business owners. We can thank them for making our daily lives that much safer._"

…It sounds awfully like 'Good guyTM' propaganda, now doesn't it?

Being fed up with all the based news reports, I finished questioning myself upon a concern of me _more than likely_ being high when I 'saw' Wakan Tanka in that cave a while ago and turned off the TV. I need to hear what the quest will say after all, however unwelcomed he is.

Not even walking up to the door, I call out: "Who's there?! I have a gun and I'm not afraid to shoot myself!"

A lie - I don't have a gun.

As expected, a stunned (or wary) silence descended behind the closed doors – not a good sign, especially since my gut is telling me that there will be a brawl.

My gut likes to calculate, but _boy_ it's bad at math. It's usually better at telling me which face I should break, and it's telling me that this morning will be interesting.

"…Room service. Please don't shoot yourself."

_Yeah,_ Like I'm going to listen to that. I will shoot myself _when_ I want to and **where** I want to, woman!

Unstrapping my axe from its holster in its hatchet form that I like to call "Savager", I look out the third floor window of my hotel room to see if there are any suspicious individuals who try _not_ to be suspicious. I only saw three with one cop reading a news paper in a digital age right across the street, second guy in a trench coat that intimidated passers by standing near the entrance directly below my apartment, and the last guy was trying not to act nervous while wearing standard police uniform, whistling loudly and doing his own thing. What an _inconspicuous_ bunch of newbies.

"Room service? Wait, let me put a shirt on."

As expected, the situation is less than stellar. The door is blocked from one to three people maximum, while people outside are there to alert the first group of any abnormalities. The only way out would be through the window while getting chased by those three or to go even louder and start a fight in the corridors right out the door.

This would be a nightmarish situation if not for a biggest crutch that Remnant has - Aura.

With haste, I place the guitar case on my back and dive through the window as I hear the door being unlocked.

Why is Aura a crutch? Well, let me tell you… Wait, you're _me_! Why should I explain this to myself _yet again_?

…

Meh, Aura is bullshit and acts as plot armor – I hate it. At least I had a lot of 'training' while being Auraless in the forest – a curious discovery on its own. From my experience, I managed to gather that people of Remnant are weak – at least two thirds in comparison with their Earthen brethren, and I was no exception. Through vigorous training and admittedly strange ways of gaining muscle that worked, I managed to overcome that little threshold without Aura being a nuisance to my growth.

"Hey! He's getting away! GET HIM!"

In a run on the busy sidewalks full of activity and familiar alleys that are not so full of activity, I easily outpace my pursuers. I wonder what would happen if I managed to unlock my Aura before my forced departure into the wilderness. Let me explain though.

As everybody fucking knows, gaining muscle is basically ripping your muscle tissue by exercising and it getting healed overtime with various amounts of pain on the side. In theory: Aura should boost metabolism rate and help tissue re-grow faster which will reduce the time between gaining additional tissue instead of straining an already torn layer, but what ends up happening is that the major amount of tissue just heals back into shape it was before while the minor part acts like it should.

If you haven't gathered yet, Aura is a subject _way_ more complicated than it seems at first glance, but it's not the time nor place for these explanations, Because this alleyway seems a little too shady to me. Even though I take enough time to get acquainted with the backstreets at any available point of time, it doesn't mean I have a navigator installed in my brain.

At the wrong turn to the left at unfamiliar trash cans and garbage dumps I run a little farther until I stop in the dead end – a cold and unfeeling brick wall is blocking my path of escape. I would like to say "not for long" but then I would have to face charges on property damage, and that is no fun.

It's much more fun to have assault charges against police officers on duty. Maybe I'll get something out of it as well, like money from their pockets! See? I'm not stupid!

As I hear hurried steps getting closer, I place my guitar behind the dumpster out of harm's way and turn around to greet my would-be jailors. To my surprise there were only four of them: the suspicious three and a woman – most likely the one who was knocking. That is concerning: either she jumped out the window after me or she ran after the three. Both options imply an Aura enforced lawman after my head. Forest green hair done in a ponytail, teal coat and pants, white T-shirt, a pair of sneakers, a VPD badge on the breast pocket and a modified gun on her right thigh – civilian clothing of this particular law enforcer… She looks good, not gonna lie. Am I gonna try anything funny? Hell nah! I'm too shy for that.

After roughly 10 seconds of them catching their collective breaths, she spoke "Michael Korish…"

A rough start.

"…Korichniew-…"

Yep, I'm not taking them seriously.

"…Michael Brown, you're under arrest! Come with us willingly and stop laughing!"

While I try to rein my amusement back under control, I ask "What do you mean 'Stop laughing'? That was brilliant, Officer! Haven't seen anyone progress farther than you with my surname, I'll give you props for that." I say as she goes a little red. From shame or from agitation, I do not know.

Through gritted teeth she forces out "Either way you're coming with me." As she approached I decided to play a smartass just a little longer.

"Come on officer, it was just an Ice-cream, nothing major." I jest.

She looked at me like I'm the idiot… which is a fair point. At least she haven't took out her-

She took out her pistol on a halfway point of the alley and stopped there. Those three are still standing there looking stupid behind her. The guy in a trench coat even had the time for his eyes to wander to the lady's rear end. Can't blame him, really. She's got a beautifully toned body, but is it really the time, Ms. Trench coat?

On a side note: should I try my luck?

_B-B-But you said you're too shy for that!_ I know shut up, Subconscious.

"An ice-cream, huh? Dusty's sure made some nice ice-cream for you to hang around in there with all the big shots of Vale." she decided to fire back.

I mean, there's nothing for me to lose if I do, so why not.

I cannot help but be amused. "That was a good answer, lady. Mind if I know your name? It's just so awful that you know so much about me already and I don't know anything about you"

She snorts as she points the sleek but bulky modified Glock-alike at me... along with those three who point the guns right at us _both_. Deriously, it's like we are in a cartoon or something. "Nice try, Casanova, but I don't flirt with people who'll sit behind bars."

I immediately latch onto her lapse in wording as I shift my feet a little to lunge when the opening presents itself. "Ahh, so that means that to know your name I will have to escape from here?"

Her incredulous stare doesn't take long to show itself as she tilts her head to the side. "Why do you want to know my name so badly? I'm _literally_ pointing a gun at you and you decide you flirt with me? Are you mad?"

I shrug. "I would say 'dedicated', but mad checks out as well. What do you lads think?!" I yell past her while not breaking eye contact. The useless trio startles a little from me addressing them. They exchange unsure glances and nod to each other before turning their heads to our direction.

"Dedicated." Thank you, newspaper boy.

"Mad." At least Ms Trench coat gets it.

"D-Desperate."

…

"Now that's just rude, no matter how correct it may be." I amend as now _four_ heads look at me like I'm the idiot here. Law Woman just shakes her head and fires at the ground before my feet for what I thought was intimidation purposes.

What she hasn't taken into account was that instead I would take that as a signal to start crushing heads. Good thing that _Savager _is still in my hand, it's edge facing backwards.

Being caught off guard by me rapidly cutting the distance, her eyes widen while she tries to raise her weapon back up in time while the poll of _Savager_ swiftly descends on her scalp. Her body is violently forced to smash against concrete with a sickening slap under the abnormal weight of the blow. Her attacker speeds past her, rolling up his left sleeve in the process to expose his armored bracer.

In their stupor and panic, the goofy three open fire on Michael without worrying about their superior being in the indirect line of fire behind me. Thankfully, his shield rapidly forms from Michaels bracer and bullets of dust turn into nothing but soot to be cleared later. One of the guys was smart enough to open fire on his legs but it proved ineffective. By the time Trench shot a clip into Michaels knees, he was already upon them with a quick dash and a blank face.

With a mighty backhand, the shield hits the face of the middle guy with a devastating crack as his body was flung head first to the wall behind him in brutal display of might. As the unconscious body of the Auraless policeman was stained red from his broken nose, Mr. Trench on the left decided to swing his fist at Michaels head in retaliation. The only thing he accomplished was the breaking of his fingers as the hood was infused with Aura and Earth Dust within the threads solidified forming a hard, rock-like carapace. With a look of pity, Michael simply knocked him out with a mean swing of the Savager the jaw, dislocating it in the process.

The guy on the right - there he stood. What happened to him is a very moot point. Even if the bullet hit right between the eyes, the criminal simply grabbed him by the shoulders and drove a knee to his gut and followed it up by headbutting the greenhorn into the wall behind him. Grunting in pain, the last thing that officer would remember is a swift sidekick to the face against the wall.

Michael, having a moment to breathe and relax his posture, pondered if he should have gone easier on the small fry. In his brief moment of respite, Michael forgot that in the beginning of the fight he lost a major advantage while charging blindly at the little firing squad.

With his back against the wall he wasn't surrounded, and he remembered that when the Aura enhanced dropkick forced him off his legs. He rolled to the side and scrambled up just in time to avoid a stray bullet that would have hit his shoulder. Standing before him was the scowling woman that was temporarily taken out of the fight, pistol aimed right in between his eyes five meters away.

"Hands up, Brown, and don't move, otherwise I'll be forced to use drastic measures." She was swaying a little, her hands were unstable -trembling even- and her brows creased closely together. She was in very bad condition. Her head was splitting from the headache forming from the lunging bash that drove her straight to the ground, where her head met concrete in a similar fashion. The only thing keeping her together is her Aura which, by her Scroll's readings, dropped to seventy percent from a single blow and a meeting with pavement.

"You don't look in a condition to take me in with your so called 'drastic measures', miss. Besides, are you really going to risk the lives of your subordinates for a little ol' me?" Michael decided to gamble once again on his ability to make the best out of shitty situations at hand. Despite visibly having an advantage, he really was in the shit in his perspective. His opponent was quite a distance away and had a gun trained on him while he himself had his Aura severely depleted from the previously tanked hits. five bullets to his legs and one to the forehead left him sitting at a low twenty. If someone would somehow find this information about his weak Aura, then he'll be done for in the future.

She visibly tensed why trying to poorly hide the fact. The scowl on her face betraying her worry for her subordinates. "Huh? I think you are in no position to threaten me with the lives of those idiots. I have a gun and you don't have a ranged weapon. The way I see it, advantage is mine."

A hearty and a slightly awkward chuckle escaped his lips at her tough disposition. "You are correct, but I don't need to fight you, remember? I can always bolt out of here at any point of time, doing more than a little damage to my surrounding if I see fit is simply a bonus, so it doesn't really matter."

The answer somewhat confuses the investigator but she remained stalwart. Her finger twitching and wanting revenge against that cheapshot. "Then, why haven't you escaped already?" And indeed, It was a valid question.

Michael decided to humour her curiosity with a shrug. "There are two reasons for me staying right now. First one is your name, which is…" He trailed off in hopes of his opponent telling her name and making it easier for him to bolt outta here if he needs to.

Wisely, she decided to keep quiet just to spite the hard hitting hooligan. As the silence prolonged in the smelly alley, Michael hummed in appreciation of the smart decision that she made. "...Hmm, You are smarter than the majority of people I know. The second reason is really simple…" Unknown to the Police Girl, there was a dirty plan brewing in the head of the convict, and it wasn't a good plan by any margin.

Nodding his head to the place behind her, Michael decides to go all in on the lucky feeling in his gut. Gambler in his mind jumping in glee while Common sense tries and fails to stop it all. "Behind that dumpster is a little something of mine, and I'm not leaving without it."

And this is where the gamble begins.

People are curious and fearful creatures in nature, so when some variable appears behind their back without their notice in the dark alley, they'll want to have information about the thing behind them, and as you know the primary way for people to gain information is through observation.

She slowly turned her head away from Michael to his masked relief, and when her eyes started to roam the end of the alley - it was time to strike. Raising his shield arm for a forward strike, He broke into a dead sprint as she understood that she was being played for a fool. Three bullets flew at a higher velocity than regular dust rounds and set the dumpster to the right on fire, missing the target in a brief moment of fear.

With a roaring grunt, he folded the woman in two on the edge of his shield and ran as fast as he could to the end of the alley. Cracks made their appearance on the solid brick wall as she was rammed into it. The Investigator couldn't do much as she was coughing out some blood from the impact made between a deceptively strong Faunus and a solid object. Blood stained her lips and white shirt as she slid down the wall, groaning and wondering if this is what it feels like to be run over.

She was defeated, that much was clear, but not beaten at the least. Her weapon has slipped through her fingers when she was shield charged and her assigned group was taken care of. The only good thing she had is that there was enough Aura in her to be healing and not losing consciousness due to aura depletion. Still, pain prevented her effort of retaliation when the criminal crouched in front of her and took out her wallet from her left pocket. Her glare tracked his every muscle in hopes of burning him alive with her stare.

"...Teal Opal, huh? A fitting name for a woman like you..."

She glared at the swimming figure bathed in shadows without saying a word. Who knew what the bastard would do to her if she decided to be a smartass. He, however, remained nonplussed by the silent treatment of the well endowed woman in front of him. The fact that he fought and rammed her into a wall notwithstanding.

"... A pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, but I fear that you don't share my attitude towards making acquaintances… And so, I'll leave you at that." He stood up and tossed her wallet in her lap, surprising the wits out of her. Guitar case that was neatly placed against the wall to her right was secured on his back with care and the axe was safely holstered on the small of his back beneath his hoodie.

He turned his head to look at her without a hint of mirth in his eye - a fact she almost missed through all her malicious leering and gritted teeth. "Fare well, Miss Opal, and have a good day."

With that, he left. His back was straight and head raised high, partially hidden by the guitar's encased neck. His steps surprisingly light and not making much noise in the dumpster lit alley as he turned the corner and left Teal to her devices.

* * *

I… don't know what went wrong. We had intel. I had orders. And I've been beaten. Intel - from our undercover agent in "Dusty's". Orders - from our new Chief Of Police. And the beatdown from the guy that I was ordered to apprehend.

Damn him and his strength. If I knew that a promotion would lead me to chasing people like him, then I would have declined Chief Christian's proposition back then and there. I am almost certain that I've got that promotion because there weren't enough hands to act on that intel, and even knowing that, I took that supposedly golden opportunity after six months of service, faster than a Mistralian inhaling Opium in a time of a Great War.

I guess I dropped my guard after all that happened yesterday. That raid was almost comically easy to pull off. Most of the convicted carried guns, sure, but they were not even close to harming my specially equipped unit that breached the cafe doors. Some people were shot, some decided that it was a good idea to engage a Huntsman in a melee combat, and some just gave up naturally when there was no hope for them.

The haul was good, 34 criminal subjects were apprehended yesterday night… Yet… Some criminals, despite our best efforts and throughout searching, have escaped in the darkness of the night. One of those few put up a good fight before escaping through his partner's Semblance - Roman Torchwick, a self proclaimed '_Criminal Mastermind_', and one of those few who were high on a priority list.

No-one expected that Torchwick would engage the prodigy Huntsman Jason Beige and hold his own for five minutes straight, not even our mole. I remember the fight quite well actually, and even though I don't want to admit it, the fight would be one sided if Torchwick wanted to end it. He haven't swung his cane _once_ while maneuvering around half destroyed hall full of splintered chairs and tables while Beige just charged at him with his saber/submachine-gun and caused even more collateral damage when Torchwick kept on egging Beige so he would overextend and exhaust himself. Our unit couldn't do much, their fight was fast and mobile so we couldn't properly aim at them while they were engaged and risk hitting our heavy hitter. I think this is why Torchwick hasn't tried to harm the Huntsman - so he would have a mobile cover and stall.

When the previously lavish cafe was almost obliterated and Torchwick was finally cornered, he did something unexpected - with that annoying smirk that made everyone seeing it want to vomit, he took a mocking bow and started making fun of our efforts at catching him. Being fed up with him and thoroughly exhausted, Beige discharged a clip at the insufferable man who, to everyone's surprise, shattered to bits and pieces of glass. Later when I personally questioned the mole, he said that his partner in crime was absent and was last seen in the Industrial district, so he couldn't provide much more information about her.

Torchwick wasn't the only one that escaped. Through the opening in the side of the building that was absent of surveillance, four figures were spotet bolting with their tails tucked between their legs. Those officers that gave chase later reported to be a leader of the Red Axes gang - Hei 'Junior' Xiong and his two enforcers - Melanie and Miltia Malachite… along with the '_unknown figure_' that I had displeasure of meeting today.

Visually, no-one could determine who that person was but if the intel was correct, then information about that person and many others would be found in Dusty's private safe that was kept under his table. Thanks to that safe we managed to dig up even more dirt on the corrupt individuals and get ready for the following morning to get them behind the bars. It was decided by our Chief that we have to get ready for the coordinated assault on all suspects that we could get our hands on. At the time, I thought the idea to be stupid. We made a lot of noise and I highly doubted that those people who were associated with that cafe wouldn't try and mobilise somehow to escape the law.

Figures many are arrogant bastards who think that they will be fine with the amount of leverage they had. The amount of evidence would beg to differ. After the raid, many people were tasked with keeping an eye on the convicted, and from the last reports that I heard, their bases were ready for the breach.

Still, other units will have to succeed in capturing them in the first place… unlike me, beaten and bleeding with almost no strength to call for help. With my vision still swimming, gut churning and head splitting, I take out my scroll and call back to our department.

Long silence interrupted only by the long sounds of scroll waiting to be picked up on the other side. After a minute, someone picked up. "Hello, this is Vales Police Department, Grant speaking, what's your emergency?"

"This is Investigator Opal. I require medevac between streets Alyssum and Stork's in Agricultural, I'm down along with three officers dispatched with me. Suspect has escaped, I repeat, suspect has escaped" After a short silence I could hear keyboard keys being typed in quick succession.

"Hear you loud and clear, investigator. Ambulances are on your way to your position, ETA - 10 minutes"

"Copy. Opal - out" Dropping my hand in my lap, I stare at the blue morning sky between the rooftops high above, slightly covered by nasty smelling smog of the burning dumpster.

* * *

I really hope I get a day off after this, 'cause I feel like shit and in need of a long shower, but I guess it will be a long time until then… If I won't get demoted after this…

I blame him for it all. Hope he hits his pinky on the table corner, or something.

Well… I guess I wasn't wrong thinking that today is gonna be interesting. I'd even go as far as to say that I "Fucking knew it", But that wouldn't change a thing except make me feel better…

…

"Fucking knew it."

Expectedly, I became a centre of attention on a sidewalk, especially to those who were walking with their children by their side and they made me uncomfortable. If I was a lesser man, I would have already died by the heat of their looks.

Can't help but hang my head in shame a little "Sorry about that", But that half haven't made a dent in parental glaring and for things to turn back to normal I turned right on the sidewalk while other people went across the road on conveniently timed green light.

Say what you will about me, Despite all my outer fanfare and confidence, but on the inside I'm a fucking feather. In all my years I've done all sorts of stupid shit and have not regretted a single thing nor a single word, but when you something stupid on _accident _\- it hurts. I can almost swear that my Aura lost 5% because of that.

I need to lean on the wall after that one.

Speaking of Aura - that piece of garbage of a crutch. As you might have noticed, my stay in the forest not only helped me with gathering survival skills the _natural_ way, but gave me time to experiment with my Aura and Semblance as well. My discoveries were… more than bountiful, yet humbling. In my case - especially so.

As far as I was concerned at the time, in all literature that included character inserts or time traveling, there always was some kind of boost to tip the stakes in the _hero's_ favour: a power boost, some BS ability or even, _Oh Gods forbid_, loving family and great heritage.

...Why does it smell like Hypocrisy in here? Maybe it's the smoking trash that got in my lungs back there…

Anyway, my discovery about my Aura -my greatest weakness- elated me beyond comprehension. The reason is pretty self-explanatory, that being - My utter loathing of abundance of advantages.

I mean sure. Strength to bend steel? I'll need that. Flexible upper body? Sure, why not. Hoodie infused with Earth dust? It weights sixty pounds, so it's a fair trade.

Naturally great reserves of Aura?

Hang me by the throat and don't look back at me swinging.

Again, I'm off track. What I just want to say is that my Aura is _so abysmal_, that even a toddler would have a bigger reserve. Hence, Jaune Arc. I was elated because I am a firm believer that having a weakness is a sign of true power. Those who are powerful don't hide their weakness and try to fix it, _no no no_, true power lies in taking pride in your weakness and never hiding from it, be it a small amount of Aura or the unfortunate circumstance that seems to pile on and on _and on_.

Speaking of weakness, I wouldn't mind going for a drink. I can always go to The Club, but with all the heat right now…

Yeah I'll just stumble around until I find a good establishment to lay low for the night. Spoke like a true Russian…! or is it 'Atlasian' now? Eh, no matter. A drink is a drink and weakness is a weakness, let's go.

* * *

**A/N Post-Production: A sixth month hasn't passed and I finally updated. **_**I thank the heavens for that happening**_**… But I blame you for not leaving a review. I need unbiased opinion on my pacing of a snail and my love for first person story telling and only you lot can help me with that.**

**Speaking of communication!**

**A long time ago, I said that I had some Ideas for some "Omakes" (which you have probably forgotten about. Wouldn't blame ya for that) and after a little thinking I decided them to be "Future Cannon Interactions". Any character at any point in time and place of pure dialogue. They'll be short and sweet… emphasis on **_**short**_**. a thousand and a half at best.**

**Have any Ideas? Give em' to me so I can stea- **_**I mean,**_** appropriate them into the fold.**

**Guess when comes the first one.**

**The answer is: Too Early.**

* * *

Omake: It's been awhile... hasn't it?

I look at my sister as she is browsing the latest fashion catalogue in our room and ask her a question that's been bugging me for some time now.

"Have we changed?"

My whisper barely reached her in the sound-proofed room - our room. She flicks her eyes at mine with perplexity in her eyes which she hid well.

"Come again?"

In a single deep breath, I muster some will to the surprisingly comfortable question. "Have we changed, Melanie?" She puts down her journal and sits up on her bed.

"What do you mean by that, sis? I don't feel any different than I usually do." I couldn't do much except to shrug helplessly at her questioning look.

"It's just… feels weird."

"...What does, Miltia? just tell me already. The suspense is killing me."

I diverted my eyes to the ceiling, searching for an answer that escaped me. Small silence hung in the air "...Have you tried to remember how things were before that bust six years ago?" Her features lit up in recognition as she leaned back. "Ah! You're talking about that raid on the neutral ground? Damn, what was it named again? I just can't remember." I can't help but to roll my eyes at her forgetfulness. We are both twenty four already and she is still as forgetful as she was back then. I smile.

I guess some things stay the same after all.

"If I'm not mistaken, it was called 'A Disaster' by many who still remember it." We both shudder at the memory. "Yeah, you tell me… What about it?" I smile wistfully as I say the words that will bring the same smile to her.

"It's the day when He came along for the first time, remember?" She 'Ah'ed at the memory of our first meeting as her eyes drifted to the floor. It was safe to say that neither of us expected to find a brother in all but blood back in that blasted place. He helped us out on that day as well - a debt we paid in full later in the month. A month when all went to hell and back.

And people say that friendship between genders is a myth.

"...Heh. I haven't even realised it's been that long, But have we really changed?"

And we are back at the same vexing question.

"...I remember how we were to people around us. Especially the incompetent jackasses that were our coworkers." My sister twitched abashedly a little and rubbed her shoulder. At a moment like this, I appreciate the fact that she doesn't bother to hide her reactions from me and Misha. It shows the amount of trust that we share, and I can't be happy enough for that...

"_I need a place to call home and people to call family. People who won't shun me for who I am and what I do... After all, I believe that family is made not by blood, but by trust and hardship that is shared, otherwise your family will consist of nothing blood-bound strangers… Maybe bloodshed is there somewhere... Shit. I'm blabbering again…"_

My memory was interrupted by Melanie shuffling in her White nightgown. "Yeah, we were bitches back then, weren't we?" We look at each other long and hard, trying to keep a straight face and failing as we erupt in good natured chuckles that rock us on our beds. I am sure that back then, even if Melanie said that to me, I would violently deny these insulting words and make the man pay. Through our 'twinly bond' I suspect she has the same thought running through her head. As we sit in comfortable silence, my sister visibly contemplates the words that have been said and apparently comes to a conclusion.

"Does it really matter, though? If we changed, I mean?"

That… That is a really good question. I mean, it is important to know who you were to not make the same mistakes again, yet it just doesn't sit well with me to imply that these six years were a mistake. What to do, what to do… In the end I just sigh helplessly.

"I suppose it really doesn't. But knowing me from the past, I wouldn't drop this subject that easily… Wanna go and drink some wine from the bar?" At my suggestion she deadpanned at me, staring at me like I've said something strange. Is it really that strange to drink a glass of wine on a day off? Apparently not, because her expression slowly turned into a small knowing smirk."...Sure, let's go. It's been a while since we let down our hair like that, hasn't it?"

Without even bothering to change, we go down the silent halls of the empty club, save for Misha probably being in the studio and Junior sleeping in his quarters. Opening the staff door near the bar, we pause at seeing the familiar scale covered back of a 6.8 foot giant rummaging through the lower bar cabinets in search of something. Clinking of glass stops as he freezes feeling the stares on his back. It's almost comical how slowly and hauntingly he turns his head to look at us.

I can swear that I heard a sound of rusty hinges screeching.

Recognizing us, he sighs in relief. "Oh, you've come for the midnight drink too?" He then continues to seek something in there. "What do you want to drink then? You know we have one of the varied stocks on the market, so don't be shy. If Junior finds out - it's all on me, aye?"

We shared a look and shook our heads with mirrored smiles on our faces. He's just so hopeless sometimes.

Melanie decides to pick for the both of us and I don't mind the fact, we share similar tastes after all. "Hmm… Let's drink some Mistralian Red. It feels like it's the atmosphere for it." And with that his eyes lit up a little in excitement. Even though he is a hybrid, he behaves like a puppy more than on one occasion. I hope whatever lady he decides to fancy won't take advantage over him too many times.

Already filling up three nice glasses with red goodness, Misha hands us our drinks and raises his own glass and smells the aroma as we take a sit at the bar.

"So, what gives? I don't usually see you two in the middle of the night, sneaking drinks in, and trust me - I would know." Creepy statement aside, I actually smile a little more. If someone has an answer to that question - it is our brother.

"Me and Melanie were contemplating on a question and decided that we need a boost" Misha obviously was interested. For all these interesting six years, we found that he is quite a smart person, but he denies it to the point of pouting. Says that being wise and being smart are two different things and when we asked which one he is, he said neither.

"Oooh? Mind sharing?"

"Yes. We weren't going to hide it anyway" my sis echoes my thought in a usual routine that still confuses him till this day. I decide to continue for her. "The question is - have we changed?"

"Of course you did." No hesitation, whatsoever. That surprised us both, usually he puts more thought into these questions.

"Really?"

"Really."

"And why do you think so?"

"Because you are here, in the present, instead of "

"...Huh?"

"While our past actions define what we are, we should never be bound to them. Sure, good memories are good memories, but you have to accept that you can't live in a dream and instead make the best out of the worst that is life. I've come to live my every second to the fullest by simply not caring enough about what _will_ or _has_ happened. Live here and now, sisters, and enjoy your stay while it lasts"

His little rambling speech made sense and it made me and Melanie contemplate some things, and yet…

"It doesn't really answers our question"

He just smiles knowingly at us. "I know. This question can be answered by you and only you, because who am _I_ to tell you who you are? But enough about that!" His exclamation echoes on the empty dance floor as we raise our drinks together.

"A toast," He begins: "For this beautiful life we live." already knowing what to say, Melanie takes the floor.

"May it never change." And finally…

"And may it never change us."

With the clink of our glasses, this night just became a little more enjoyable than any other.

"Now, who wants to listen to the new song I made?"

And it kept getting better.

* * *

**Guess who hates himself right about now. Who would have thought that making an impactful and short Omake is so hard? **


End file.
